One Summer
by silverfirelizard53
Summary: (After the Battle) They walked down the stairs together, no longer comrades in a great battle but simply just as friends. They would always be way more than the stereotypical definition of friends, but walking down from the tower felt like a new chapter, a new beginning. They could mourn and grieve, and when that was done, they could celebrate...and live. **CANON COMPLIANT**
1. Chapter One: The Boy Who Lived Again

**A/N:** NEW STORY!

* * *

**CHAPTER ONE**

**The Boy Who Lived Again**

* * *

He was comfortable.

He was warm.

Shifting between a state of consciousness and sleep, Harry James Potter rolled over in his bed. A bright light fell across his body, and he turned away quickly, screwing up his face in that moment of surprise. Pain. What felt like a jolt of lightning seared across his chest. Aches and bruises covered every inch of his body, jarring his numb brain into the present moment. It was as if someone dumped an entire pensieve of memories back into his head.

The Battle.

Voldemort…dead?

His green eyes snapped open. Harry was lying in his old bed, gazing up at the familiar ceiling that had been his greeting every morning for those six years while he was at Hogwarts. He was not entirely sure how he had gotten here, but the sunlight drifting across the hangings of his four poster bed told him that it was late in the afternoon. He had only been asleep for a few hours at most, which was an incredible feat considering he had previously been awake for nearly thirty straight hours.

With a great effort, Harry pushed himself into a seated position. His body protested the movement, but he forced the pain from his mind. He reached blindly for his glasses on the bedside table, thankful that they had been placed there for him yet confused at the same time. The last thing he could now remember before sleep was staggering into this room, half supported by Ron and Hermione. They were there too, curled up on a bed just a few feet to the left. Ron was sprawled out across the bedsheets, fully clothed and his face ashen. Hermione, smaller in sleep, had fit herself perfectly against his lanky frame. The sight of them made Harry feel strangely lonely. He thought of Ginny.

He placed his feet on the cold ground and stood upright. Little lights popped before his eyes, and the room spun a dizzy circle around him. It was a chore just to move forward, and Harry was so shaky that he had to grab onto the other beds for support as he walked to the bathroom. Once inside the brightly lit room, he almost didn't recognize the man in the mirror as he pulled off his clothes for a shower. His hair was long and unkempt; it would have to go soon. A dark stubble covered his chin, making him look much older than his seventeen years. There was a gash on his shoulder, and a purple bruise that stretched from his chest to his right hip. Falling debris had left nicks and scrapes on his face, hands, and scalp.

He turned the shower as hot as it would go, letting it almost scorch his skin. The water left pale streaks through the dirt and blood as it slid down his body. Harry tried not to think or feel any grief. His memory of the night was still slightly hazy, but he was sure it would fully clear once he had a true night's sleep and a proper meal. His function right now was to simply exist, thankful that he was actually alive in the first place.

"Harry?"

The sound of his own name shocked him slightly. He shook the water out of his eyes. It was Hermione's voice that had spoken from the other side of the shower stall, and Harry felt guilty that he had woken her. "Yes?"

"Would - would you like a change of clothes?"

He had not thought that far ahead, but Harry was thankful for the suggestion. There was a tentative edge to Hermione's voice, almost as if she feared for his own well-being. He supposed that nearly collapsing from exhaustion hours earlier had not eased her nerves. Also, he had not forgotten, for a short while there she had believed that he was dead.

"Yes, thank you."

Harry returned to his shower, but busied himself with removing all traces of dirt, blood, and sweat from his skin. If he was going to return to the main part of the castle, he figured he should at least look presentable. Plus, with each passing moment he spent in the hot shower, his mind grew clearer and clearer. There were people he needed to talk to, and things that needed to get done. Most importantly, he needed to take the Elder Wand back to where it belonged.

He shut off the water, shivering slightly in the cooler air. Hermione had hung a soft towel over the shower door for him, and Harry quickly dried off. His clothes were just outside the stall, and he struggled into an old pair of jeans that had been left out for him. He did not attempt to pull the jumper on over his head. Several of the large gashes on his upper torso had reopened and were stinging after his brutal shower.

"Hermione," he said, pushing the door back open. "Do we have any more dittany?"

She had been looking out the window, staring at the grounds far below her with a pained expression. At his words, she jumped and quickly started digging through her little beaded bag. Ron was still sound asleep, his mouth slightly open as he snored. That was when Harry remembered the Weasley family and what had happened.

Fred was dead.

"There's not much left," Hermione said gently, coming forward to inspect his wounds.

"Just get the worst."

There was a hissing sound and a puff of smoke as a few drops of the brown liquid made contact with his skin. Harry looked away, biting his lip in pain. It was not terrible; he had certainly suffered worse. After a few short moments, it was over. He pulled the shirt on over his head as Hermione replaced the lid on the tiny bottle.

"How do you feel?" she asked him cautiously.

Although it was hardly the time for ill-humor, he smiled and said, "I'm alive."

"Yes, yes you are."

She brushed away the tears that had gathered in her eyes, giving him a sad little smile. Hermione truly did look terrible. There were dark shadows under her eyes, and her hair was singed in a few places from the battle. The clothes she wore were ragged and stained with blood, and it was impossible to tell whether that blood belonged to her or another person. With a sigh, she glanced back over at Ron, who twitched slightly in his sleep and turned over. Harry saw that there was a caring, worried look in her brown eyes.

"Are we going to wake him up?" he asked.

"Not yet. Let him sleep just a little longer."

Harry reached for her arm. "You can't keep him from that pain forever. He's going to wake up, and he's going to be miserable no matter what."

"I know," she responded.

Hermione was next to take a shower. While she was in the bathroom, Harry used the mirror and basin next to his old bed to shave his face. He wanted to be recognizable as the old Harry, the one who had not spent nearly a year on the run. Pulling back the fringe across his forehead, he inspected the old scar left over from his first encounter with Voldemort. Unlike all the other wounds on his body, it seemed faded and benign. His fingers traced the thin outline, and he wondered whether he would ever feel that terrible pain from his scar again.

Harry sat down on the bed and waited for Hermione to get out of the bathroom. There were strange noises that he had not noticed before drifting up through the many floors of the castle. It was obvious that people were awake and moving, but Harry was not quite sure what else was going on down in the body of the school. He did not have to wait very long for Hermione, and she certainly looked more awake when she stepped through the door. Her long brown hair dripped onto the hardwood floors, but the ends had already started to curl slightly. With an unwilling frown, she bent over Ron and shook him awake.

"Wha-what? Where am I?" he mumbled in confusion, sitting upright.

"Ron," Hermione responded gently. "It's me."

"Oh."

A painful look of realization crossed his face, and he suddenly looked quite sad. Ron slowly rubbed his eyes and ran a hand through this ginger hair. He looked at Harry, but couldn't seem to find anything meaningful to say. After a moment, he struggled to give Hermione a reassuring smile. Her eyes were watery, but Harry knew that they didn't have to say anything to express what was going through their heads.

So many were dead, but the battle was over. There would be no more Horcruxes, no more running, no more fighting, and (most importantly) no more Voldemort. Harry's brain moved slowly, as if he had swallowed a large quantity of Firewhiskey. This thought, this strange new world, was difficult to process.

"What time is it?" Ron asked after a bit.

Harry checked the watch that Mrs. Weasley had given him on his last birthday. Miraculously, it had survived the battle with no more physical damage than what was previously there. "It's nearly quarter till five. I want to go down in a bit."

"Nobody is making you, Harry," Hermione said, braiding her wet hair into a long plait.

"Yes, but I can't stay up here. I can't do that to them."

He wasn't quite sure who he was referring to, but the statement was more ambiguous anyway. He still felt as though there was work left to be done, and he wondered how long it would take to rid himself of that drive for purpose. His two best friends nodded in agreement, and after Hermione dropped the last bit of the dittany onto the worst of Ron's injuries, they continued to get ready. Unsure of how long they would be staying in the dormitory, Hermione tucked the beaded bag into her pocket after retrieving Ron's clothes from the bottom. While his best friend took a shower, Harry looked down at the wreckage of Hogwarts castle. From the position of the window, he could see several damaged walls and broken windows. The grounds were terrible, and much of the grass had been torn up during the battle. Harry was almost glad that he could not see the front entrance of the castle from this vantage point. What had they done with all the bodies?

Bodies...that was such a terrible word. Those people had been his friends.

"Hermione, these are my old jeans again," Ron moaned when he left the bathroom.

She gave him a patronizing glare. "That's all I got left in here."

"Well...it's okay, I guess. Thank you."

Harry pulled on a cloak and grabbed the wands from the bedside table, hiding his smile as Ron blushed sheepishly. If Harry's memory was correct, there had been a moment in the final battle where his two best friends had shared a kiss. Slight tension hung in the air, but Harry pretended to ignore it. The look on Hermione's face made him feel embarrassed enough to have witnessed their awkward exchange.

"Shall we?" said the Boy Who Lived (again), gesturing toward the door.

They walked down the stairs together, no longer comrades in a great battle but simply just as friends. It went without saying, but that last night had certainly changed them. Of course, they would always be way more than the stereotypical definition of friends, but walking down from the tower felt like a new chapter, a new beginning. They didn't touch, or even look at each other, but the understanding passed through them like an electrical current. They could mourn and grieve without the threat of danger looming over their shoulder...and when that was done, they could celebrate...

...and live.


	2. Chapter Two: Aftermath

**A/N:** I thought I might as well go ahead and put this up. I actually have about 30,000 words already written of this story (in pieces, however). It was my NaNoWriMo project this year, and although I was unable to finish it then (damn finals), I've decided to go ahead and try again. Currently, I've just finished editing Chapter Four. I can't make any promises as to how fast the story will go up, but rest assured that I have MORE written than what is posted. What author can say that?

Reviews are like pictures of baby Hedgehogs.

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**CHAPTER TWO**

**Aftermath**

* * *

Ginny Weasley had a gash on her head. It wasn't very large or painful, but its location (on her left temple) made any sort of facial expression difficult to manage. It was even hard to yawn, and she was so very tired; her arms felt heavy, her throat ached, and her eyes burned from lack of sleep. Grief, as it turned out, was utterly exhausting. It would be easy to go upstairs and give into the blissful oblivion that a bed promised, but she was not going to allow herself that simple luxury just yet. Besides, there was work still left to be done.

"There are twenty-three Ravenclaws still missing," she said, tightly gripping the clipboard in her hands as another yawn threatened to build in the back of her throat.

Her good friend Neville Longbottom looked up from his own clipboard, surprise and worry evident in his eyes. "Really? Even with the most recent count of the deceased?"

"Yeah, I checked twice."

"Bullocks," he muttered, and his normally eager face betrayed the bone-deep weariness that Ginny felt. "That's the most out of any house."

The youngest Weasley was fighting a losing battle. Another yawn twisted her face, and she tried desperately to hide this one behind the back of her hand. Neville smiled at her sympathetically. They were in the Great Hall, which was still relatively crowded from that morning. Professor McGonagall had entrusted them (and Luna - who was now hovering over by the Slytherin table) with the very important task of tracking down students. In the rush that was last night, they had all forgotten to take roll call. It was almost impossible to determine which of the students had escaped, which had stayed behind to fight, and which were now regrettably dead.

Dead like her brother.

Ginny sat down on a nearby bench. Everything hurt, and nothing was okay.

"On the plus side," said Neville, sitting down beside her. "Almost all the Gryffindors have been found. A lot of them risked their lives to help the younger students get home safely."

She almost smiled. "You might belong in Gryffindor, where dwell the brave at heart…"

"…their daring, nerve, and chivalry set Gryffindors apart."

Neville mimed holding up sword, which was oddly ironic considering the circumstances. He seemed to notice this, and stared at his invisible weapon with something akin to confusion (as if he couldn't believe that he had been the one to slay the snake Nagini only hours before). Ginny sighed and rested her head upon his shoulder. The gesture, although intimate in some sense of the word, revealed nothing more than their platonic affection for each other. It had been a rough year.

"What am I going to do?" she asked.

He took the clipboard from her fingers. "You've been at this all day, so you should go to your family right now. Luna and I are more than capable of working without you."

Ginny glanced over at the group of people situated in the furthest corner. Their shock of ginger hair was unmistakable even at this distance, but she found that she was oddly fearful of them. Her mother and father sat side by side, in much the same fashion that Ginny and Neville did, but there was true grief in their slumped postures.

"I don't want to go to my family. I don't want to say his name."

"Yeah, but it's not about you," replied Neville, although not unkindly. "I'll get you when you're needed, but right now, they need you more."

He gave her a nudge in the back, and she stood upright. With a half-teasing, half-thankful look back at him, the sixteen-year-old crossed the room toward the corner with her family. No one said a word at her arrival, but Charlie scooted further along the bench to make room for her in their silent huddle. Ginny glanced back at Neville, but he had already returned to his assigned job. The fading sunlight reflected off the silver on his clipboard, and then she looked away.

* * *

The path down to the Headmaster's Office (no, _Headmistress_) was relatively quiet. Signs of the battle dotted the corridors every now and then, increasing in size and devastation as they descended the floors. A statue in shattered pieces...a blood stain on the floor...a busted glass window that reflected the fading sunlight as tiny rainbows on the ceiling. Everywhere they walked, there was the faint grating sound of stone on stone. The source was not apparent until they turned a corner and faced the most astounding site that Harry had ever seen (and he had seen quite a lot of things). An entire wall, which had evidently been blown apart by a curse, mended itself right before their eyes. Stones flew back into place, and a nearby statue stretched and limped to his pedestal. Harry's mouth dropped open, and he turned to Hermione. She had a knowing smile on her tired face.

"You really should read _Hogwarts: A History_," she said.

"The castle can fix itself?" Ron asked, flabbergasted.

"Well, it changes all the time, doesn't it? Doors that aren't doors and corridors that lead somewhere else on Tuesdays...The castle changes for the students."

Harry turned back to the wall, which was now completely mended. Besides a little dust on the floor and a ripped painting ‒ whose current occupant was now begging them to put up some tape ‒ it was no longer evident that a battle had occurred. The grating sound continued, however, echoing from some other part of the castle. It was as if Hogwarts was a wild animal, licking its wounds and moving on.

A lump had formed in Harry's throat, and he swallowed quickly. "That's really powerful magic."

"Hmm," Hermione replied as they continued down the corridor. "Speaking of powerful magic, Harry, when are you going to take care of that wand?"

"Later," he responded. In reassurance, he patted the inside pocket of his robes, where he had placed both the Elder Wand and his own beloved phoenix feather wand before leaving the dormitory. After their ordeal that morning, he was a little nervous to be walking around with the greatest weapon in existence. As powerful as the Elder Wand was, Harry could not wait to get rid of it forever. He knew exactly where it should go, and he kept that thought at the front of his mind. It was the one last thing he needed to get done, and then he was completely free.

The gargoyle in front of the spiral stone staircase now stood upright in its post once more, although it still looked a little punch-drunk from the battle.

"Can we go inside?" Harry asked cautiously.

"Sure, I don't care," it replied sleepily.

Behind the door to the office, Professor McGonagall was deep in conversation with another voice. Hermione knocked for Harry, because he was reluctant to have an audience, but his friend's face relaxed into a smile when she peered around the door handle. Their new Headmistress had evidently been in conversation with the portraits on the wall, because she was the only living person in the room. The three heroes crossed over the threshold. Harry was glad to see the professor, and she looked well enough for someone who had been working almost nonstop for the last few days. Her stern glasses did not quite hide the dark circles around her eyes and her skin was pale, but there was joy and satisfaction in the way she held her shoulders.

"Mr. Potter, Ms. Granger, Mr. Weasley," she said, crossing the room to shake their hands. "I hope that you've had a chance to rest."

"Not nearly enough," admitted Ron.

Harry tried to smile, but it was difficult. "Thank you, though."

"Well, is there anything I can get you? Are you hurt? Do you need to see Madam Pomfrey? Would you like something to eat?"

Unsure of how to respond to her inquiries, Harry glanced at the other two. They were just as surprised as he was by their professor's open display of affection. In fact, she truly did look worried on their behalf. They must've looked awful, and food sounded like a great idea anyway. Harry's stomach was growling audibly. It had been ages since he had eaten a full meal, and although he had truly meant to get something from Kreacher that morning, sleep had been a more pressing need.

"I think we're okay, but sandwiches would be nice."

Professor McGonagall immediately summoned a House Elf, and within moments there was a full plate of bacon sandwiches and a flagon of pumpkin juice. They dug in, and Harry had to force himself to eat slowly to avoid being sick. On the wall behind the desk, Professor Dumbledore's painting smiled at him, eyes twinkling in the faded sunlight that spilled through the overhead window.

"Have you heard that Kingsley Shacklebolt has been promoted to interim Minister of Magic?" asked the older woman after a while.

"Mhmm," Harry replied through a mouthful.

"He would like to speak with you tomorrow if you do not have any objections. He had to rush off to London tonight, but sends his regards. The country has been placed under a state of emergency for the time being."

"Why?" asked Ron.

Professor McGonagall took a moment to answer; she looked apprehensive. "Our government is in shambles, Mr. Weasley, and there were many Death Eaters who escaped last night. The Minister has advised all families to stay inside and wait until things settle down."

"What about the castle? What about all the families of the victims?"

"Hogwarts has been closed to all visitors until we have a proper head count. Hogsmeade is completely full with desperate families right now. I plan to open the gates tonight at six thirty, so people can collect their children and go. We will not finish this semester."

Harry frantically checked his watch. They had about an hour until then. "No reporters, right?"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Potter, but I will not be able to stop every single one of them from entering. There are too many pressing needs right now, although they can be banned from the castle if they cause a disturbance."

"Right," he replied. Harry knew that he was rushing their conversation, but he didn't have the energy or patience to be extroverted right now. "Has anybody tried to fix Professor Dumbledore's tomb yet?"

If the new Headmistress was surprised by his question, she did not show it. "Not yet, I'm afraid."

"I would like to fix that, actually. I'll take care of it completely. Professor Dumbledore, do you mind?"

He addressed the portrait of his late mentor for the last question. Professor Dumbledore clasped his hands together and leaned back in his armchair, laughing. "By all means, Harry, I'm just a painting. You may do as you wish."

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Well, Albus, that's one less thing I can mark off my list."

"It's an awfully long list," the painting sympathized. "Now, I actually have a question for you, Harry. Do you know what happened to your late Professor Snape? I know that he did not make it through the battle, but someone should see that he is laid to rest in peace. I believe Minerva is wishing to hear the story from you as well. I have already explained some things to her, but she is having trouble believing the truth."

Harry had been in the act of chewing on a piece of bacon, so he took a moment to swallow before responding. Professor McGonagall waited patiently, although it was obvious that she was anxious for his confirmation before believing the garbled version that he had yelled at Tom Riddle only hours earlier. Ron and Hermione remained silent out of courtesy.

"He's in the Shrieking Shack. Somebody will need to retrieve his body. Snape had been on our side the entire time because he felt guilty after what happened to my mother. He died trying to protect me."

"Minerva," interjected Professor Dumbledore's portrait. "Do you remember Lily being friends with Severus when they were children?"

"Well, yes of course…but he had so many secrets. I never even knew that he had given her a second thought after their fallout. This new level in his deception is hard to conceive, Albus."

Harry sighed. "He was good at keeping secrets and deceiving others. That's why he spied on Voldemort for the Order."

Professor McGonagall looked at Harry for a long moment, and then she nodded in defeat. "Well, I trust both of you more than my own perceptions. If you say that he was good, than Severus Snape was good. I will send someone at once to collect his body…and we will add his name to the memorial service tomorrow."

"Memorial service?" asked Ron.

"Oh, yes, I apologize for not mentioning it sooner. It slipped my mind. There will be a memorial service tomorrow to honor the dead. No one is required to attend, but I would expect nothing less from the three of you after what happened last night. You may stay the night in Gryffindor Tower, so I'll reinstate the password."

Hermione was watching Harry closely for a reaction, but he only nodded. As frightening as the idea of a memorial service was, he knew that his former professor was right in suggesting that they attend. "Of course, Professor McGonagall. Is there anything else that we need to know right now? There's something I need to get done."

"Kingsley Shacklebolt will be in touch," she said, and then her face softened. "And please get some more rest. The three of you look positively dead on your feet."

* * *

Ron was the last to step off the spiral stone staircase that lead to the Head's office, but he reached for Hermione's arm before they made it any further down the corridor.

"Can I speak to you alone for a moment?"

Her brown eyes quickly darted to Harry in embarrassment, but the other boy only nodded and stepped away to give them space. Ron was grateful for his friend's thoughtfulness, and he waited until Harry had occupied himself with looking out the window on the other side of the hallway before he turned back to Hermione. She was blushing, but there was a slight smile to her lips. Ron took that as a good sign.

"There was a moment last night where something happened between the two of us. I just wanted to know if that was…was…"

He struggled to find the words.

"We shouldn't be having this conversation now, Ron" Hermione said, but her voice was soft and gentle. It was so unlike the bossy tone he was used to hearing.

"I know," he replied. "But I just need to know for sure. Just give me some kind of confirmation. What happened last night?"

Her brown eyes were intense. "I kissed you."

"And was it real? It wasn't just the adrenaline?"

"It wouldn't have happened without the adrenaline," she replied. Her voice had dropped to a whisper. "But I'm glad it did happened, if that's what you're asking."

Ron breathed a sigh of relief. It was as if a ton of bricks had been lifted off his shoulders. His mood was still low and miserable, but at least there was a ray of sunshine in the mess that had been created. In a moment of tenderness, he reached up and brushed back a wild strand of hair that had escaped her braid. Her face flooded with still more color, but he couldn't help but notice that her bushy hair was rather soft.

"I think I'm going to go find my family now," he said.

He did not want to think about his brother. There was a sick voice in his brain that kept chanting '_he's dead he's dead he's dead_', but he was still unable to fully grasp the meaning behind those words. Ron would have preferred to stay with Hermione and pretend that nothing had happened, but he knew she would have forced him there sooner or later.

She nodded. "You should. I'll stay with Harry."

"Somebody has to watch him," Ron grimaced.

They looked over at their mutual friend, who was busy scuffing the toe of his shoe along an uneven tile in the floor. The events of the final battle seemed to echo in the silence between Ron and Hermione. There had been a moment last night where Ron had thought the world had truly ended. It had been when You-Know-Who announced Harry's death.

Hermione reached for his hand. "Hey. It'll be okay."

"I know it will," he replied, giving her hand a small squeeze in return. "I'll see you back up in the Common Room."

Tears threatened to spill over now, so he quickly let go and turned to hurry down the corridor alone. He told Harry his plans in as little words as possible, which was good because the other boy did not see the drop that trickled out of the corner of his right eyes. Ron ignored the curious stares from people on the Great Staircase and didn't stop until he reached the Entrance Hall. He took several deep steadying breaths. Ron needed to be brave right now. His family needed him more than ever, and he had been an awful son and brother over the past few months.

_He's dead he's dead he's dead…_

The Great Hall was certainly not as crowded as it had been earlier that morning, but there were enough people glancing up from their food and conversation to make his entrance awkward. He glanced around the hall momentarily for that familiar shade of red, but they found him first.

"RONALD BILIUS WEASLEY!"

Perhaps from force of habit, he jumped shamefully at the sound of his mother's voice. She was standing up, marching toward him from the corner of the room. Her face looked frightening; it was red and blotchy and pale in all the wrong places. He ducked his head, hands in his pocket, and waited for the scolding that would surely come. It didn't, though. Ron took a tentative step forward. It felt as though he were walking on thin ice.

His mother's lip lip trembled. "I didn't know where you had gone…"

She burst into tears and threw her arms around her youngest son. He was a good head and shoulders taller than her, so he merely patted her awkwardly on the head. Ron was mortified by her display of emotion, but at least the other people in the Great Hall had enough tact to look elsewhere.

"It's okay, Mum…" he said.

"No, it's not! You were gone for months and months, and I couldn't help you. It's all my fault. I'm so sorry."

He grabbed her by the shoulders and stepped back so he could get a better look at her face. Her brown eyes, crinkled at the edges and full of tears, met his blue with hesitation. "It's not your fault. It was my choice…but I'm back now. Everything's fine."

It wasn't, and he knew that.

_He's dead he's dead he's dead…_

The rest of his family came forward, and Ron found himself giving a hug to each and every member, including Fleur (which was rather uncomfortable). Bill clapped Ron on the back.

"Glad to see you again."

"Same. I honestly didn't know whether I'd see you again after we left the other day."

It was an honest statement, but the brutality of it seemed to shock his family. His mother dabbed at her eyes with the cuff of her sleeve.

"Where are Harry and Hermione?" asked his father.

Ron was in the process of hugging Charlie. "They will meet us later. McGonagall says that we are welcome to stay the night in the Gryffindor Tower."

"She already came to talk to us," Percy said.

Ginny was the last to step forward. Ron embraced his little sister, remembering all the times he had been so worried about her over the past year. After a moment, she gave an annoyed sigh, and wriggled out from under his arms. They were not supposed to indicate that they loved each other, of course. That was the rule.

"Don't ever do that again," she threatened.

"Okay," he said. "The next time I have to go on a dangerous quest, I'll consider my actions."

His little sister punched him playfully on the shoulder. The rest of their family turned to make their way back to the end of the Gryffindor table where they had been sitting. When she thought no one else could hear them, Ginny lowered her voice to ask: "How is he?"

"He's okay, I think."

Ron and Ginny turned to follow the others. They had been in the middle of eating dinner, but the food was, for the most part, relatively untouched. Their mother had dished large amounts of bangers and mash on everyone's plate but her own. Fleur had mostly pushed hers around the edges. Even though Ron had just eaten back in Professor McGonagall's office, he helped himself to a little bit of the food.

"Dad," Ron asked quietly. "Where is he?"

His father looked as though he had aged several years since last night. "They've moved them to several open classrooms on the ground floor. There is an official Ministry investigation right now, but we'll be able to see him in a bit...and then they will take him until...until the funeral."

George, who sat on the other side of Percy, did not seem to hear his father's words. He was pale and quiet, staring at the food on his plate without really seeing. His missing ear was more prominent than ever without his twin for comparison, and Ron had the sudden horrible realization that he would never see the two together again. He didn't know what it was like to lose a twin, but he was sure it had to be worse than what he was currently feeling.

"We'll bury him in the village graveyard," their mother said quietly. "In the back of the lot by the tree. It will be nice there."

* * *

With Ron gone, Harry and Hermione made their way to the courtyard alone. This side of the castle was largely empty, aside from a few House Elves picking their way through the rubble. Hermione's eyes were red from the effort not to cry. Harry wondered what Ron had said to her, but he decided not to ask. Some things were better left unsaid.

A handful of people lingered in entrance way to the courtyard. Harry didn't realized that they were from the Ministry of Magic until it was too late. A dozen pair of eyes turned toward him in shock. A few people even hurried out from an adjacent empty classroom to catch a glimpse of the famous Harry Potter. Unfortunately, however, the two young heroes had a good look as to what was inside that classroom.

It was a terrible sight. Bodies under white sheets lined almost every inch of the floor. The sickly stench of death hung heavy in the air. Everywhere they looked, the dead stared back at them with horrible finality. Harry could see Lupin and Tonks several rows past Fred, but he couldn't bring himself to move any closer. Among the dead, there was also Lavender Brown, Colin Creevey, Andrew Kirke, and a Hufflepuff girl that Harry knew was called Gayle. It was unreal to think that these people had been fighting on behalf of him only hours ago. It wasn't fair. He was very much alive, heart beating and blood pounding...and this had been all his fault. So why did he get a second chance at life when so many had been denied that right?

It was too much for Harry to take at this moment, so soon after the battle. He didn't want to see the dead...not now or ever. Feeling sick to his stomach, he tugged on Hermione's sleeve to indicate that he would keep moving. There were tear tracks on her face now, but thankfully, she followed him past the door. They didn't stop until they were safely in the courtyard. Pushing his glasses up into his wild hair, Harry pressed the palms of his hands against his eyes until it hurt...until the tears stopped threatening to spill over. He couldn't afford to fall apart, especially now. Next to him, Hermione started sobbing.

"Come on," he said, wrapping an arm around her shoulders. "We should take a walk."

She could only nod. Her face was buried in the crook of her arm, and Harry could hear her breath coming in deep gasps. He led her around the rubble and out into the open grounds. It was almost evening now. The air was bitter and cool against his warm face. He could smell the grass, and hear the wind whistle over the tops of the tree branches. Even though he was leading Hermione to the tomb of another lost loved one, it was hard to feel overwhelmed with the great expanse of sky overhead.

Hermione brushed the tears from her eyes; she looked lost and sad. "Ron needs me, and I don't even know how to keep myself together."

"Honestly, he just needs someone who understands. You don't have to try so hard," Harry responded.

She nodded again, drawing her cloak around her to keep out the chilly air.

They remained silent until they reached the beautiful white tomb where Dumbledore had been laid to rest. It had only been a year since the incident on the Astronomy Tower, and now that Harry knew the exact circumstance of Snape's actions, it was strange to think back on that bitter day in June. The tomb was a pitiful sight now; the great marble top had been cracked almost in half. Harry took a deep breath, bracing himself for whatever state he would find his old headmaster, and stepped closer. Hermione stayed back, watching him with mournful eyes.

It was as if Professor Dumbledore had been buried yesterday. Harry wondered briefly if magic kept bodies preserved longer or if there was a special spell, but he would have preferred to find his headmaster in a less dignified state of rest. Seeing him, as though he were just asleep, brought back the anger and frustration that Harry had felt all year. He forced himself to think only of their positive conversation last night in King's Cross (or wherever that had been). It was hard to accept that the old man had been fallible, but Harry was still learning. He was learning how to live again...how to think in terms that weren't life or death.

"Now what do I do?" he mumbled.

His dead headmaster, of course, gave no answer. Harry slipped the Elder Wand out from his pocket and placed it inside the tomb. As the wood left his fingers for good, it grew cold and still. Harry wondered whether the wand had any inclination of his intentions. He knew too much about wandlore now to completely trust the seemingly innocent stick. He willed it to obey him, knowing that it could not betray a true master. Drawing out his own wand, Harry pressed the tips together. A silver web spread from the points and fell across Dumbledore's body. When he stepped back, the light faded.

"That was nonverbal magic!" Hermione said, impressed. "What spell did you use?"

Harry shrugged. "I didn't use any spell. It just read my mind."

She gave him a shrewd look, but didn't make any further comment. Drawing out her own wand, she helped him repair the tomb to its original state. The marble melded together easily, and it was impossible to even discern that Voldemort had broken it all. When they were done, Hermione conjured a bouquet of red roses to place on top. The contrast in colors was startling, even in the fading light of the day. For a long while they stood like statues, hardly daring to make a noise at all. It was only when the bell tower chimed fifteen minutes past six did they jump from their spots. Slowly, they made their way back up to the castle. He certainly did not want to be around when the reporters came.

"Do you mind if we walk under the invisibility cloak?" Harry asked.

"I'd prefer it actually."

She pulled out the silvery cloak from within her beaded bag. Drawing it over his shoulders, they huddled close and began to move forward. The trek back up to the castle felt longer than it had coming down, but they were amidst the rubble within reasonable time. People were rushing around, and someone yelled aloud that the castle would be opening in ten minutes time. Harry and Hermione rushed up the stairs, careful not to tread on passing feet. There would be no reporters for them tonight…no people abusing him with endless questions. On the fifth landing, they found the Weasleys. Harry pulled off the cloak and hurried forward.

"There you are!" Mr. Weasley said, relieved.

Hermione reached for Ron's hand. "We just went for a walk."

"Mr. and Mrs. Weasley," Harry started, his voice catching slightly. "I just wanted to say that I'm really sorry about Fred."

Mrs. Weasley was not crying, but the red around her eyes indicated that she had done so recently. She looked at Harry, but her face did not express anger or blame like he thought it might. Without saying another word, she wrapped her arms around the boy and held him close. Harry had forgotten what such a hug felt like. He closed his eyes tightly and hoped that she would understand just how he felt.

"You may not be my son, but I still love you just as much," she said softly, as Mr. Weasley patted him on the back. "I thought I almost lost you too."

Harry's eyes stung, but he forced himself not to cry in front of the other Weasley. He did not want that kind of attention. Mrs. Weasley drew back, kissed him on the cheek, and then turned to give Hermione a hug as well. Harry not realized just how much he needed that forgiveness. It had been weighing on his conscious for far too long.

Ginny stepped out from behind her brother Percy. Harry momentarily forgot where he was, and what he was supposed to be doing. She seemed relatively unharmed, aside from an ugly scrape on her left temple. Her beautiful red hair had been pulled back into a ponytail, and a few thick curls lightly brushed her shoulder as she turned her head toward Harry. Her blazing eyes met his, but he found that he could not stand the force of her gaze. Blushing, he looked away.

"Just think," said Mrs. Weasley, glancing around at the lot of them with a look of compassion on her motherly face. She was struggling to hold it together. "We're finally going home tomorrow."

Mr. Weasley forced a smile on his face, and he put an arm around her shoulder. His wife continued, however. "The house needs to be fixed up, though, but we can work on that together. We'll clean all the rooms and fix the yard. I want everybody to stay home for now, so we can make everything run like clockwork again. Are we clear?"

Her children only mumbled responses of affirmation, but the older woman still looked rather satisfied, as if she was determined to seek the positive. They continued up the stairs to the Gryffindor Tower. Before Harry had a chance to follow, however, his path was blocked by Ginny. Ron paused to watch their interaction, his eyebrows raised expectantly, but Hermione grabbed his arm and pulled him away.

Ginny's eyes were still blazing, and it was apparent that she meant for him to speak first. She looked tired and weary, but the corners of her perfect mouth were turned slightly down in a look of determination. Harry thought back to their last kiss, remembering the sunshine through her window and the scent of flowers on her skin. It had been so very long ago, and for the second time that night, Harry felt guilty for everything that had happened. He tried to find something meaningful to say, but the words were simply stuck in his brain. He had been so resigned to his own doom that he hadn't had a chance to even consider an appropriate apology.

Feeling rather stupid, Harry spoke to his shoes. "Ginny, I – I don't really know what to say."

He had hoped that she would yell at him, call him stupid, or confess a burning hatred. Instead, Ginny gave a tired sigh, and Harry couldn't help but look back up at her. In the briefest of moments, that look of determination had crumpled into one of sadness. He had almost forgotten that she had also lost a brother. Her moment of weakness passed quickly, however, and she met his gaze with the same ferocity as before.

"Just tell me that we'll talk later," she said, but her voice was not unkind.

Harry nodded. "We'll talk later."

She turned to go, and Harry silently cursed himself for that awkward exchange. He could not leave her with just those words, especially now that her brother was lying cold and dead in another room. He reached for her, and his fingers closed around her cool wrist. Her ponytail swished through the air as she turned back to him, and he caught that familiar scent of flowers. It made him feel dizzy. She was close enough to him that he could see her pale eyelashes and the ring of gold in her brown eyes.

"Ginny – Ginny, I'm sorry," he said, the words spilling out faster than he could keep track. "I'm sorry for everything. I'm sorry about Fred, and I'm sorry that I left you."

If he looked at her eyes any longer, Harry was sure that he would burn up. When Ginny spoke, he had to strain his ears to hear her quiet voice. "I really missed you, Harry."

"I missed you too."

She pulled away from him, and Harry's hands quickly returned to the pockets of his robes. With the briefest of smiles, she turned to follow her siblings. Harry also continued up the stairs, but his mind was still too focused on Ginny's words to process anything else. _She had missed him!_ He was not entirely sure what that meant for their future, but it certainly made him feel a lot better.

For the first time in what felt like forever, Harry thought of tomorrow…and the next day…and the next day…and all the days after that. As they climbed the stairs back up to the Gryffindor tower, he finally felt thankful that he had survived. He was surrounded by people who loved him, and Voldemort was gone. Even though he was exhausted, ill, and miserable beyond all reason, the thought of all those days ahead kept his feet moving forward. One step at a time; one day after another. Whatever was ahead, it certainly couldn't be any worse than what he was leaving behind.


	3. Chapter Three: In Memoriam

**A/N:** I'm not entirely sure if there is something wrong with this website, but I've been having trouble uploading and formatting documents. I had to cheat my way around it. Anyway, here is chapter three for your enjoyment. Please let your friends know that you are reading this story. I appreciate any and all reviews. But first:

**Adrian Cliffhunt**

**Michael4HPGW**

**JulesRules13**

**Guest**

You guys are awesome. I'm glad you are enjoying the story so far, and I really appreciate your words of encouragement.

**Ericfmc**

Thank you for the long review! It is a definite boost of confidence to see someone take the time to help me out! I liked the point about Ron and Hermione. It actually was intentional (romance is awkward when you're a teenager), but not a plot point, unfortunately. It made me realize that I probably need to include more of those moments, but it's difficult trying to fit in romance when people are so sad. But thank you for pointing that out!

* * *

**CHAPTER THREE**

**In Memoriam**

* * *

Harry did not immediately wake up to the alarm clock on the bedside table, even though it was obnoxiously loud. It took several long moments for his brain to resurface from his cloudy dreams and even longer for his eyes to open. Unlike the day before, the dorm room was rather busy. People walked back and forth to the bathroom, and it did not immediately occur to Harry that they were the Weasleys until the shock of ginger hair swam into his blurry vision. The noise of the alarm clock and the movement felt overwhelming so early in the morning, and Harry rolled over, pressing his face into the soft fabric of his pillow.

"Oi! Get up!" said a voice. "Shut that alarm clock off!"

He reached for the bedside table, but only succeeded in knocking the clock to the ground. It smashed into several pieces, and it was only then that Harry sat upright. He stared down at the broken appliance for a few minutes in confusion. He didn't remember setting an alarm clock last night.

"What time is it?" he asked.

There was a short burst of laughter, and Charlie's voice replied. "It's seven-thirty, of course."

Harry put on his glasses and ran a hand through his annoyingly long hair. He knew that he would have to share a dorm with the other Weasley boys last night, but did not stay up for very long to see them off to bed. Charlie, Percy, George, and Ron were in the room with him, but Ron was the only one still in bed. He had his head shoved underneath a pillow and another one lay on the floor. Harry had a sneaking suspicion that it had been thrown at him from an older brother.

He stood and stretched, feeling his sore muscles protest the simple movement. "Where did the alarm clock come from?"

"Mum thought we might need an alarm to wake up on time," Percy replied stiffly as he repaired the device with a wave of his wand.

"Yeah, but Percy here gets up at the crack of dawn, so there was no need. You should go ahead and get ready, Harry. The girls are already up, and Hermione dropped off some robes for you. Also, mum thinks you two need a haircut, so I don't know how long she'll wait before she attacks you with some scissors."

Although his brain was still rather foggy, Harry nodded at Charlie's words. Ron still hadn't moved from under the bed covers, so he proceeded to the bathroom. On his way, he passed George, who was looking at his socks as though they were confusing. Harry immediately felt a stab of remorse. They were going to attend a memorial service for those who had died…for Fred. Harry hadn't realized up until this moment, but he actually felt rather ill. His head pounded and his throat felt dry and sore. He regretted this obligation to go, but honestly, it was his fault that they were gone.

After a shower and a change of clothes, Harry felt slightly better. Since his dress robes no longer fit, he wore a plain set of black robes over jeans and a dark sweater. He left the bathroom open for a grumpy Ron, who had obviously just been thrown out of bed by his older brother. Although Charlie was trying a force a bit of light humor onto the situation, it was hard for them to smile at his attempts. Percy never laughed anyway, and George seemed to be in shock. Harry sat down on his bed and tried to envision going back to the Burrow later on that night. It would be rather disconcerting, especially after so many months…but before his mind could drift to possible scenarios with Ginny, there was a knock on the stairwell door.

"It's your mother," came the voice of Mrs. Weasley. Percy opened the door.

Even though Harry knew that she was deeply suffering from the loss of her son, the older woman had still managed to get up and dress nicely for the day. He wondered where she had managed to find the long black robes, but he suspected that Auntie Muriel had somehow been able to pass them some clothes for the night. Her face was pale and wan, as though she had cried a great deal and slept very little through the night. When her eyes fell upon them, she tried to force a watery smile.

"Where's Ron?"

"In the bathroom," replied Charlie, who was writing letters on the edge of his bedside table. Letters that, Harry knew from a conversation the night before, were for family members to explain the situation.

Mrs. Weasley stepped into the room. "Always the last one to get ready, of course. Harry, dear, you really need a haircut. I brought a pair of scissors. There are reporters here today, and I'm sure you will be asked a thousand questions. Arthur's already been down to breakfast."

"I really don't want to talk to anybody," Harry replied quietly. George was now staring at him as though he had just noticed the thread of conversation.

"No one will make you, but you really should be there. Kingsley wishes to speak with you."

Harry nodded. He had known that the new Minister for Magic would want to see him as soon as possible, but it did not make the ordeal any less pleasant-sounding. He was saved an answer, however, because George spoke for the first time in what seemed like forever.

"Mum, I don't want to go today, so I think I'm going to go for a walk."

Before anyone could reply, he stood up and briskly walked to the stairs. Mrs. Weasley opened and closed her mouth several times as the tears returned to her brown eyes. She looked around at them wildly, as if they had somehow provoked George into leaving, but he had honestly not even spoken once that morning. Harry looked down at the floor, feeling sick once more. He couldn't shake the horrible feeling that this was all his fault.

"Don't worry, Mum," Percy said. "I'll talk to him."

Once Percy had left, Mrs. Weasley struggled to take a few deep breaths. She was obviously close to a breaking point, but she had managed to hide most of that with her positive statements about returning home tonight. Even now, in the dim lighting of the dorm room, she looked lost and fearful, like someone drowning slowly. Ron finally left the bathroom, and he noticed rather quickly that he had just missed something important. He exchanged a look with Harry, and then hurried to place his things on the bed.

"Right," said Mrs. Weasley, struggling. "Haircuts. Who wants to go first?"

"I told you," said Charlie.

Harry looked to Ron, who seemed surprised that his mother had pulled out a pair of ordinary scissors from the pocket of her robes. "I guess I can go first," Harry said, grimacing.

He placed his glasses on the bedside table and sat down on a desk chair. Mrs. Weasley ran a hand through his hair, and he thought he heard her sniff slightly as she inspected some of the cuts leftover from yesterday's battle. It was hard to think that that had happened in the early hours of yesterday morning. It felt like so long ago, as if it had been years and years since Voldemort's defeat. With a great _snip!_ one lock of black hair fell down on the ground by Harry's feet. He closed his eyes, and let Mrs. Weasley do her thing.

With each swift movement, Harry's head felt lighter and lighter. He hadn't even realized just how much hair he had until it was gone. Over the years of his young life, Harry had endured many haircuts as a child. None of them had worked very well, but he often attributed that to his extreme dislike of the Dursleys. When Mrs. Weasley was finally done, she tapped him on the shoulder. Harry opened his eyes, replaced his glasses, and looked into the bathroom mirror. His hair was shorter than it had ever been in his lifetime, but it did not look ghastly as the Dursley haircuts often did. He still had enough hair that it stuck up in weird places and curled slightly, but his scar was now just visible above his bright green eyes. There was no point in denying who he was or hiding any longer. The war was over.

"Is that okay?" Mrs. Weasley asked, vanishing the pile of black hair on the ground. "I know you don't like it too short, but it was so very long."

"Yeah, this is fine. Thanks."

He gave her a hug, and she patted him on the cheek with a sad smile.

Ron was next, and Harry waited patiently for his best friend. His red hair was not quite as thick as Harry's, but it had grown significantly longer over the past year. Ron squirmed and grimaced each time his mother cut with the scissors, and Charlie had to yell over his complaints to grow up. This caused the younger boy to scowl, but he finally sat still. Once Ron's hair was finally cut short (shorter than his, Harry noted), the two friends left the room once and for all. Mrs. Weasley and Charlie stayed behind to finish the letters to other family members. It was disheartening to close the door behind them, but Harry was determined in this decision. There would be no going back after the memorial service, and he was quite glad to leave his old dorm room behind. It just didn't feel quite right anymore.

"You and Hermione took care of the wand last night, right?" Ron asked in an undertone, running his hands over his now brutally short hair. There had been no opportunity to talk last night. Harry had gone to bed almost immediately after their return to the Gryffindor tower.

"Yeah, everything's good."

He nodded. "Great. And I know this probably goes without saying, but I hope you stay with us for awhile…I mean, once we go home."

"Ron, I don't have anywhere else to go."

"I know, but I thought I should still say something."

They continued down the stairs to the Common Room in silence. Harry had expected it to be full of people, but he was quite glad to see that many of his friends had been invited to stay over in the Gryffindor Tower. Bill and Fleur were holding hands over by the fireplace, Dennis Creevey was sitting on the couch next to Hannah Abbot and Dean Thomas, and Luna was standing on her tiptoes to straighten Neville's tie. Although there was a mixing of houses, Harry was glad to see that they were all people he trusted. When he and Ron stepped onto the landing, they all smiled and said words of greeting, but they didn't rush to speak to him. It was quite a relief, because he knew what lay outside the safe confines of the Common Room.

Ginny was standing by staircase. She was wearing long black robes that didn't suit her, and her hair was down for the occasion. Unfortunately for Harry, she looked rather cross. Her arms were crossed over her chest, and she kept glancing around at their friends as if she were anticipating something unpleasant to happen.

"Where's Hermione?"

"Oh," she said, her face softening slightly as she nodded to Harry. "Nice haircuts. She just had to run upstairs to make sure everything was packed. She'll be down in a minute."

"What's wrong with you? You look upset about something," Harry said. She sighed in response.

"You aren't going to like downstairs. I was followed by about dozen reporters all the way to the Fat Lady."

Harry frowned at her words. It bothered him that so many people were outside wanting to hear from him, but he knew that was only to be expected. Neville caught sight of them, and he came over, pulling Luna along with him. The Ravenclaw was too busy staring up at the Gryffindor tapestries that she tripped on the carpet. Ginny caught her, smiling at her best friend's inattention.

"Did you know that picture up there is of Selina Sapworthy? She was rumored to have drugged the entire International Quidditch Team in 1824 by an extremely potent tea. It was made from the same magically mutated form of ivy that gives the Umgubular Slashkilters their magic powers. It doesn't work properly on humans though. The International Quidditch Team just came down with fits of giggling and spontaneous predictions of the future."

Ron actually laughed at this, and his face lightened considerably. "That sounds fascinating, Luna. Did they ever prove it was her?"

Luna promptly opened her mouth to answer, but she was interrupted by the arrival of Hermione from the girls' side of the dormitory. "Maybe another time, Luna. That's not even Selina Sapworthy's portrait. She's just here because the friars on the 3rd floor asked her spy on Harry. I overheard them."

Harry glanced up at the painting, and sure enough, the black-haired woman blushed and ducked out of sight.

"Your hair looks so much better!" Hermione said to Ron, reaching up to touch his ginger hair. "Oh, and yours looks good too, Harry."

Ron smiled and stood a little straighter, as if he had completely forgotten how much he had protested the haircut only moments before. Behind him, however, Ginny's eyes widened with shock, and she looked to Harry as if to ask 'when did this happen?'. He fought a snicker and shrugged. There would be time to explain later, and he knew Ginny would love to hear all the details…if only take the mickey out of Ron later.

"I don't believe I've talked to you since yesterday, Harry," Luna said. "How are you?"

They all turned to hear his response, and Harry realized that this was the first time that someone had asked him about his own well-being since Hermione's question yesterday afternoon. He sighed and scratched the back of his neck. "I'm okay, I think. Sometimes it's really hard to believe what happened and I feel guilty, but other times I just feel thankful to be alive."

The blazing look had returned to Ginny's eyes, but it was her turn to look away underneath the intensity of his gaze.

"Sometimes people think they need to act a certain way when something sad or terrible happens," Luna replied softly, her eyes leaving Harry's face to linger on Ron and Ginny. "And then they think there is something wrong when they don't exactly feel that way. You're not guilty, Harry."

He nodded.

"Is that a real thing or a Luna thing?" Ron asked.

"No, it's basic Psychology," Hermione replied softly, resting her hand on the crook of Ron's arm. "We should go down to breakfast so we can eat before the memorial service."

They began to walk forward, and Neville matched their stride. "We were actually hoping to join you. We believe that Harry might need some company to get through the reporters. Right, guys?"

All of the present members of the DA, including Cho Chang, ceased talking and stood up. Harry looked around at the lot of them and found himself to be incredibly fond of that young group who had followed him blindly in the defiance of Dolores Umbridge all those years ago. They had stuck by his side, regardless of whether he wanted them there or not, and it took a special type of person to remain where they were needed. Even young Dennis Creevey, who seemed to be fighting back tears over the recent death of his brother, stood firmly at Neville's words.

"You don't have to do this," said Harry, and even though he spoke quietly, his voice rang in the silence of the Common Room.

"Of course we do," Seamus Finnigan replied, still supporting a black eye from yesterday. "It's the least we can do for you."

They all moved toward the exit, and Harry, who wasn't sure whether he would have been able to leave only minutes earlier, took a deep breath and followed his friends through the Fat Lady's door. It was rather amusing to think that the DA had formed a ring around him. He was not entirely sure what he expected out in the hallway, but the mass of people who greeted them surprised him greatly. There was a clamoring of voices, and they were all calling out his name. Flashes of light and great puffs of smoke indicted that pictures were being taken. Harry kept his head low, but followed Ron and Hermione as if nothing extraordinary were happening.

"Mr. Potter, can you tell us what happened yesterday morning?"

"How were you able to kill You-Know-Who?"

"Mr. Potter, where did you go all year?"

"Did you have a secret weapon?"

"Is it true that the Malfoys imprisoned and tortured you, Mr. Potter?"

"Mr. Potter, please answer!"

* * *

The upper levels of the castle were mostly deserted, and the only sound that greeted Percy's ears in the silent hallways were his own footsteps. He was a little bit frustrated (and worried of course) over the fact that he had still not found George after fifteen minutes of searching. Deep in his heart, he knew that he would never find his younger brother if he truly didn't want to be found. George knew the castle better than him, and the bespectacled young man had already visited all the secret places that he had come across during his time as a student. In fact, Percy was just about to give up completely when he a turned a corner on the seventh floor…and there was George.

"Did mum tell you to come and find me?" George asked. He was sitting on a windowsill overlooking the Green Houses. This side of the castle was relatively untouched from the battle, and if Percy tried really hard, he could almost pretend that they were back at Hogwarts when things were not a disaster. Even still, his daydream felt wrong. There was no Fred.

"No, I volunteered actually," Percy replied.

He sat down on the windowsill next to his brother, feeling the cold air that radiated off the glass against his back. For a second, Percy wondered if George would just get up and walk away, but he made no indication of leaving.

"Part of me wants to be mad at you," said George. "You know, for coming back at the last moment like a prat…but the other part just doesn't care enough."

Percy flinched at the harshness of his brother's words. "I'm so sorry. I wanted to come back for months, but I was in too deep at the Ministry. I managed to get in touch with Aberforth Dumbledore after a while, so I knew when you guys had gone into hiding."

"Did they not try to go after you?"

"They couldn't. We took that as our sign to hide as well."

George had not looked at Percy once since their conversation had started, but he finally turned to face his brother with a strange expression. "We?"

"Congratulations, dear brother," replied the older without any humor. "You are the first in my family to know that I have a girlfriend."

"No way. What's her name?"

"Audrey."

George looked impressed. "I'd like to meet her. Anyone who can date you must be an interesting person."

"You will soon enough, I guess. Audrey went on an 'extended vacation' to America the day after Ron was spotted. I don't think she's very happy with me right now, though."

"Why not?"

Percy thought back to that day in April and shuddered. "It's a long story, and I'd rather not talk about it right now."

"Fair enough," said George. They lapsed into uncomfortable silence for a few moments. Percy turned to stare out the window, and although he tried to speak a few times, the words would not come easy. Their deceased brother had always been the one to speak first. Even from a young age, the twins had taken on different roles in their family. Fred had always been the instigator while George was more subtle.

"So," Percy started, but his brain was having difficulty forming thoughts into words. "So…are you not going to come to the service?"

"No."

"You know he would have wanted you to go. If not for him, then maybe for the other people who died."

George made an angry noise. "How would you know what he would have wanted?"

"I don't," said the older brother quietly, and he felt a tear slide down his cheek.

* * *

Unlike yesterday, which had been a bright and cheerful day despite the terror of the battle, the enchanted ceiling overhead reflected a gray and miserable morning. Harry watched the clouds roll across his field of vision, and he suddenly remembered how Hedwig would fly down from the Owlery for a bit of toast and an affectionate nip on the finger. Looking at the sky suddenly grew very painful, so Harry forced his eyes back to his eggs and toast. Perhaps he would get another pet when things settled down. He just didn't feel right without an owl.

"Mr. Potter?"

Professor McGonagall walked across the length of the hall, and she had brought the new interim Minister with her. Kingsley Shacklebolt was a tall, dark man with long robes of deep purple. If he was weary from the battle, he did not show it. In fact, he seemed just as composed and sentient as always. His gold earring glinted slightly in the dim lighting of the overhead sky. Harry put aside his fork, cast one last look at Ron and Hermione, and stood up to shake the Minister's hand. The other man towered over him like a shadow.

"Hello, Harry Potter," Kingsley said in his low voice. "How are you?"

"I've been better," he replied truthfully.

"Shall we walk?"

Kingsley gestured for Professor McGonagall to step first, and together the three of them traveled from the Great Hall. Harry was surprised to see that there were no body guards walking next to the new head of the country, but he knew from experience that Kingsley was more than capable of taking care of himself. Nobody dared bother them as they stepped outside into the rather gloomy weather. The courtyard looked much better than it had the day before. Cobblestones were still torn up all around the open pavilion, and the fountain looked more like giant crater. At least the bloodstains had been cleared.

"I've placed a spell on us so we cannot be overheard," said Kingsley as they headed across the grounds, walking with no real purpose. "We have a lot to discuss."

"I can't tell you everything," Harry said.

"But you will tell me everything that I need to hear to protect the safety of this country, right?"

Even though his voice was kind, his eyes were stern and serious. Harry nodded. He knew that Kingsley would never hurt or betray him, but he did understand the severity of the situation. Weighing the costs and risks in his head, Harry settled on what information he should reveal. They continued for a few more minutes in silence, and Harry suddenly realized that they were on the path to the Quidditch Pitch. It made him feel nostalgic.

"Well, it all started eighteen years ago…"

He launched into the story of how his parents had gone into hiding after the revelation of the prophecy. It was almost therapeutic to reveal that information, and he didn't struggle over the details of his "Chosen One" status. The Minister and Professor McGonagall made a great audience. They were silent the entire time, nodding and speaking only when Harry needed a prompt. When it came time to explain Voldemort's story, he backtracked only to make sure that he could fully explain the Horcruxes.

"Horcrux?" Professor McGonagall asked. "I've never even heard of such a thing."

Kingsley frowned. "I've only heard it mentioned in passing."

"It's really…awful," Harry said, but the words did not do the situation justice.

They had reached the Quidditch Pitch, and Harry looked up at the structure with an ache in his heart. He had not realized that it would have been damaged so far away from the castle, but he shouldn't have been surprised to see the once-great adventure from his childhood charred and blackened from fire. House banners had been ripped and trampled upon; the hoops were broken and shattered. One entire section of the stands had been smashed like toothpicks from what was obviously a giant. Harry's voice trailed off, and he stopped to stare for a long moment.

"I have so much work to do," Professor McGonagall said, and for the first time, her voice sounded weak and frail.

"It's okay, Minerva," Kingsley replied. "I've met with a few of the school governors, and they are working hard to get the money you need."

She sniffed uncharacteristically, but then her face resumed its normal stern appearance. "Please continue, Harry."

Slightly shaken, the young man resumed his story about the Horcruxes. They walked around the length of the Quidditch Pitch, and headed back up the path from which they came. Harry talked in great detail about the events of the past year, but he left out any mention of the Deathly Hallows. He wasn't sure how much people had heard from that conversation when he confronted Riddle yesterday morning, but he was sure that they would not remember the minuscule details. If Kingsley and Professor McGonagall were aware his lack of a mention about an all-powerful wand, they did not show any sign.

"So he's dead," Kingsley finally asked. "You-Know-Who, I mean? Truly and finally dead?"

"He's definitely not coming back if that's what you mean."

They paused where they were standing. Not far from the entrance of the castle, chairs had been set up for the memorial service. A few people were already walking amongst them, trying to find the best seat. Harry waited for Kingsley's next question, but it was Professor McGonagall who spoke next.

"Well, Mr. Potter, what will you do now?"

"What do you mean?" he asked uncertainly.

"I mean, you are finally free to do as you wish."

Kingsley spoke up quickly. "We could use you at the Ministry."

"You mean like a job?"

"He has not completed his final year of education, though!" Professor McGonagall said sharply.

"I…err," Harry said. "I don't know what I want to do. I need some time to think about it."

After a moment, the two adults nodded their head solemnly and apologized. Harry felt his heart hammering; he had not thought that far ahead in advance. Three days ago, he wasn't even sure if he was going to survive the end of week. Professor McGonagall had mentioned his education, but he wasn't sure if he could even go back to Hogwarts after this, much less attend another year.

But a job? There were a lot of implications in such a little word.

"The memorial service will start in a few moments, Harry," Kingsley finally said, looking out over the rows of chairs. You might want to go ahead and get a seat. A word Minerva?"

She inclined her head curtly as Harry left them. While his attention had been averted, two rather large figures had taken a full six seats in the back row. It was Hagrid and his half-brother Grawp, dressed nice (in matching furry coats) for the solemn occasion. Quite by surprise, Harry found his feet hurrying to claim the chair on the other side of Hagrid, and it took his oldest friend quite a few moments to comprehend who was sitting down near his elbow.

"HARRY!"

With a great sweep of his arm, Harry was pulled into a bone-crushing hug that nearly broke him in half. Behind Hagrid, Grawp jumped up and down in excitement, shaking the ground with each bounce of his feet. When he was finally released, Harry rubbed his sore ribs. Hagrid was so happy that great tears were rolling down his face, and he looked so ridiculous sitting there in his hairy suit that Harry couldn't help but feel like a joyful bubble had risen in his chest.

"Hagrid, how are you?"

"Doin' fine! Wha' about yerself?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair and sat back down. "I don't know, Hagrid. I honestly don't know, and I know I can't lie to you like everyone else."

Hagrid's beetle black eyes were twinkling despite the tears that still sat fresh on his cheeks. "Yer okay, Harry. Maybe yeh don't feel like it now, but yer okay."

"Hagrid," Harry said, and he took special care to make sure that Hagrid understood this completely. "I'm so sorry for not letting you know that I was alive. It was one of the hardest things I've ever done, and I've done quite a lot of hard things."

"I understand. Yeh had to do it."

He clapped one giant hand on Harry's shoulder, and the young man actually felt his chair sink into the ground. He felt much better getting that off his chest, but the easy way in which Hagrid forgave him made him feel uneasy. Shouldn't more people be upset with him? He had done some crazy things over the last year, and Harry knew that he would've been hurt by his actions if he were in anybody else's shoes.

After a few silent moments, Harry turned around to scan the crowd for Ron and Hermione to save himself from saying anything awkward. It only took him a few moments to spot the small cluster of ginger-haired people, and he stared pointedly at them until they noticed his presence. Hermione dragged Ron across several rows to sit next to Harry, and the rest of the Weasleys quickly followed. Harry noticed that George and Percy were the last to sit down, and although they were both pale and red-eyed, their presence alone made him feel significantly better.

"You missed it," Ron said, slightly breathless. "This reporter was pestering Ginny, so she hexed him."

"That is not how civilized ladies are supposed to act," Mrs. Weasley admonished.

Harry looked at Ginny, who was sulking with her arms crossed over her chest. "Good thing I'm not one of those," she muttered.

Ron and Hermione exchanged pleasant greetings with Hagrid, and then they even addressed Grawp. The little giant was more than happy to speak with them, and he even showed them how he had learned a new word ('disembowelment'). Hermione's smile became rather fixed, but Grawp did not notice that anything had changed.

More and more people filled into the empty seats, and with each passing moment, the rows became denser and denser. Harry did not even know half of these people, but he was sure that they had not come on vacation. There were so many people struggling not to cry as they looked around the battlefield that Harry figured there were enough tears in this plot of land to fill a bathtub. Even the reporters looked solemn, and they held their cameras awkwardly against their chests as people walked by. Harry was sure that they had been told to be respectful during the ceremony but he kept his distance nevertheless. Sitting low in his seat, Hagrid's giant shadow shielded him from the view of most people.

Harry was content to watch them anyway.

There was a woman standing a ways from the crowd, her arms clamped around a bundle of blankets. A black shawl covered her hair, but Harry could see beautiful dark locks framing the shape of her face. She bounced up and down slightly, cradling the bundle as if it were a precious artifact. He watched her for a few moments, and one of the folds of the blanket fell down, revealing a shock of bright blue hair.

In a single awful moment, Harry's world crashed to the ground. The woman, whose name was Andromeda, avoided the crowd for the sole reason that she looked like her evil (albeit dead) sister. Her face was blotched and red, but she still managed to smile when one tiny hand waved out of the folds of the blanket. The baby was Harry's godson.

"Harry, what's wrong?" Hermione asked.

He didn't speak, but only nodded in their direction. Andromeda seemed unaware that anyone was watching her. She rocked baby Teddy back and forth. He was still so very young, Harry realized.

"Oh Merlin," Ron muttered. "I forgot about him."

"He's an orphan now," Harry said, but the words caught in his throat.

Hermione reached toward Harry, but before she could offer any words of reassurance, Ginny stood up. She still seemed sour from whatever incident had happened in the Great Hall, but she tossed her long red hair over her shoulder and slid past her family into the aisle. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the rest of the Weasleys watched her walk over to Andromeda. At first, the other woman seemed weary of the young girl, but within moments, they were talking easily. Andromeda let her look at Teddy, and Harry was overcome with a weird feeling as Ginny smiled at the tiny baby.

After a few more minutes of discussion, in which the rows of chairs had almost been completely filled, Ginny came back and slid into her seat. They looked at her expectantly, but she just shrugged her shoulders.

"I introduced myself…told her I was sorry," she said. "Oh, and I invited her over for dinner some point soon."

"Ginny!" Mrs. Weasley said in a horrified whisper. "You can't…we…she…Ginny, I killed her sister!"

Unfortunately for Mrs. Weasley, a hush had fallen over the crowd of people so that the entire Weasley family heard her confession. She blushed scarlet in anticipation for their reactions, but her sons just simply stared at her in shock. Ginny, however, found the situation inexplicably humorous. She let out a beautiful peal of laughter that cut through the miserable silence like a knife through butter. Clapping a hand over her mouth, she fought to hide her giggles. The way her eyes glittered was so infectious that Harry couldn't help but smile. Normally, he would have found anyone else laughing at such a moment to be rude, but it was so natural for Ginny.

"What is wrong with you?" Ron asked, although he too was smiling.

"We're fucking crazy," she snorted. "Mum's afraid to invite over Andromeda because she killed Bellatrix Black, and Fred's not around to tell her how stupid that sounds."

It was the first time any of them had mentioned Fred's name, and even though there was a huge intake of breath, nothing terrible happened to them. In fact, George actually laughed along with Ginny, and he was so loud that the people in front of them turned around.

"Shhhh," said a short wizard with a pepper gray beard and bushy eyebrows.

"Oh, you shut up," George replied. "My brother's dead and my mother is worrying about dinner conversations."

Mrs. Weasley looked torn between humor, horror, and embarrassment. She settled for looking slightly disgruntled as her children continued to laugh at her expense, but Harry knew her better; she probably found the situation just as funny. Ginny finally managed to settle down, although she continued to hiccup occasionally. Fortunately, Kingsley had risen to the platform that had been constructed for service, and the solemn atmosphere descended upon them once more.

Harry wasn't sure what he had been expecting, but the ceremony certainly surprised him. Instead of starting with a grand introduction speech, Kingsley cleared his throat unceremoniously and began reading from a piece of paper in his low easy voice. In no particular order, he read names from a list of those who had died in the battle. It was the most fitting tribute Harry could have ever hoped for, because the grounds were silent and nothing moved but the sweep of the wind.

There were over fifty names on the list, and no one dared to breath while it was being read. Each name hurt Harry like a curse, and the silence of the world tore his heart open once more. When Severus Snape's name was read, there was an outbreak of whispering, especially from the Hogwarts students. Kingsley continued on, however, giving no one time to complain.

As though feeling his pain, Hagrid patted Harry on the knee. The young man looked up and saw tears leaking into the half-giant's great beard, and Grawp was blowing his nose into what looked like a handkerchief the size of a bed sheet. As the last of the names were read, there was a flash of scarlet and gold. Harry twitched, thinking of curses and jets of light, but it was only Fawkes the Phoenix. He did not sing, but circled once around the crowd of people, and then flew back out to the Forbidden Forest. Harry figured that he was one of the few that noticed him, but the very memory of Phoenix song lifted his spirit slightly. Perhaps that was Dumbledore's doing after all.

There was silence for what felt like forever. In the years to come, Harry would not fully remember the events that happened next simply because he had tried so hard to block them from his memory. It wasn't that he was ungrateful, but he was not the type to appreciate public recognition…and that's exactly what happened. Looking back on the photographs of that moment (and they were in almost all the history textbooks now), Harry could only see a weary and battle-scared teenager with a look that clearly embodied the phrase "deer in the headlights". He didn't look like a hero, at least in his opinion, but that was the first time he had been addressed as such in public.

"Thank you," Kingsley Shacklebolt said in his low, deep voice. "Now, I wish to take a moment to bring to your attention something very important. Harry James Potter, would you please come up here?"

At the sound of his own name, Harry froze. His own heart started hammering loudly in his throat, and he would have had to stop and process the request if Ron and Hermione hadn't given him a gentle nudge out of his seat in the right direction. The walk toward the stage was the longest minute of his life, and he was acutely aware that everyone had turned to watch him pass. Their eyes were like a thousand lights, so bright that he could not see. He looked toward Kingsley instead, noting that the man was so much taller and stronger and more the hero that Harry was not. He felt little, just so _tiny _in comparison. The climb up the stairs was painful, because he was sure his legs did not work and his palms felt slick on the railing. Kingsley Shacklebolt shook his hand just as he did earlier, and Harry faced the crowd. There were way more people than he had first realized.

"Harry James Potter," the new interim Minister repeated, drawing out Harry's name until it felt like prayer. "I have invited you up on the stage to formally thank you for your sacrifices yesterday, these last few months, and over the course of your entire life. There are many people in this crowd and all over the country who deserve formal recognition as well, but their achievements and sacrifices in the war will come out in time as our world recovers…but you, however, have given more to this cause than any other person, and I want to take a moment to give credit where credit is due."

His words did not require a response, so Harry remained silent. Unsure of where to look or how to stand or what to do with his hands, he stared down at his shoes instead.

"For those of you who don't know, Mr. Potter's fight against You-Know-Who was not his choice…or the choice of anyone else. Yet he did so without complaint, and without any regard to his own safety and happiness. Like all of us here today, he was nothing more than the unfortunate victim of a very dark and hateful person…but it was this misfortunate that drove him to keep fighting, drove him to stay alive one more day."

There was a slight pause, and Harry looked up into the eyes of Kingsley Shacklebolt. Surprisingly, the older wizard was looking at him with something akin to awe and gratitude, and it was not an expression that the dark-haired boy was accustomed to seeing. Looking past him, Harry saw Dumbledore's white tomb in the distance. The wind shook the trees, but otherwise, the grounds of Hogwarts were still and quiet.

"Harry James Potter, on the behalf of the Ministry of Magic, I am presenting you the Order of Merlin, First Class for your services to the Wizarding World as well as to your protection of The United Kingdom. You are the youngest person to be presented such an award, and we hope that you will continue to benefit us with your skill and dedication."

A roaring filled Harry's ears, and it took him several moments to realize that people were clapping. It was a subdued applause, but they were on their feet, and many people were smiling through their tears. Harry felt as though he could not breath properly, and when they presented him with a medal that came out of nowhere, his face flushed with embarrassment. He could only stutter quietly to the Minister, but the cool metal of the plaque was pressed into his hands before he could even string together the words to convey how much he felt that he didn't deserve this. The applause and the flash of the cameras and the faces of all those people blurred in Harry's mind, but he finally picked out Ron and Hermione (the two people he wanted to see more than anyone else) standing in the back with the other Weasleys. There were smiling so hard that it looked like it hurt. Tears were rolling down both their faces, and it was only their enthusiasm that brought a small smile to Harry's face. His eyes finally rested on Ginny, and he knew that the glow of her beautiful face was reserved for him and only him.


	4. Chapter Four: The Burrow

**A/N:** Hey, guys! Sorry it has taken longer to update last time. Something they won't tell you about getting married is that it is extremely difficult to actually plan the darn thing. My fiancé and I spent close to three days fighting with a printer over wedding invitations, and we finally gave up and took a trip out of town. So, I'm back for the time being! I do have some bad news, however. I have almost completely exhausted the amount I wrote during NaNoWriMo (yes, my story is approaching 30,000 now). Aside from a few sections in the next few chapters, I will be writing everything from scratch. The wait between uploads is about to get a lot longer. I apologize in advance, but I will do my best to make sure that this story stays consistently updated. It is my goal to write a bunch of stories about the years after the war, and I will get there sooner if I finish this story! Thanks for being awesome!

Now for review responding!

**SnowWhiteOwl**

Your wish will come true pretty soon, actually! I'm fixing to write it tonight!

**JulesRules13**

Does your username have anything to do with the amazing TLAT author? If so, you are correct. She does rule! Anyway, thank you so much for the review. I really appreciate the comment about my writing. I have LOTS of stories, actually...but I usually wind up deleting them. There are a few floating around on a different website, but I kind of wanted to reboot my page here and start over. I hope to fill it with stuff I'm proud to present.

**Bert Canon**

For those of you who don't know, Bert Canon left me the most amazing review ever. It was very helpful and constructive. I agree whole-heartedly with many of the things you said, and I think I laughed for a solid fifteen minutes at the line "Perhaps Ginny rips out some bitch's weave after she talks to harry at the leaky cauldron...?". Made my day.

* * *

**CHAPTER FOUR**

**The Burrow**

* * *

In the faded light of evening, the Burrow looked like a haunted house. No lights flickered in the mismatched windows, and the whole place had a general feel of neglect. Weeds grew tall in the garden. A gnome scampered away from the beam of Percy's lit wand. It had been months since Ginny had been home, and she felt an odd sense of detachment as she glanced upwards to where her room was located. This was not an emotion she was used to feeling. Maybe she aught to have been sad or discouraged by the state of their lovely house, but Ginny only felt tired. It was like someone else was living through her body, and she was only watching the situation from the outside.

"We forgot to close the back gate," said her mother in a strangely choked voice. Ginny turned to address her, but before she could think of anything meaningful to say, the older woman broke down in tears.

It was awkward, and even Ginny's father seemed suddenly lost for words. The sixteen-year-old looked around at her brothers for guidance, but the long day had taken a toll on everyone. Bill and Fleur were struggling to comfort each other, Percy obviously felt uncomfortable stepping forward to take charge after being away for so long, George was unreachable, Charlie seemed too miserable, and Ron was looking at her in desperation. Ginny tried to meet Harry's eyes, but he was still lost in a fog of exhaustion after the medal presentation that morning. There was really only one thing she could do, and Hermione gave her a nod of encouragement.

"Come on, Mum," Ginny said, putting her arm around their mother and leading her forward. "I'll make you a cup of tea."

The rest of the family followed quietly. Earlier that afternoon, the new Minister of Magic had personally visited the Burrow to restore all of their secret enchantments. It had survived a raid with barely any damage at all, and they had to thank the new established government for any and all quick repairs. Charlie opened up the kitchen and turned on the lights. Inside, there was a distinct smell of dust and moldy food. Ginny wrinkled her nose, but she led her mother to a chair (she had to right it first as it had been knocked over), and then she busied herself with hurrying around the stove. Hermione jumped to help, speeding up the process with magic.

"Quit standing around," Ginny snapped at her brothers, who were awkwardly taking up space in the cramped kitchen. "You should go clear all the dust and get the beds ready for tonight."

She noted that George had not even come inside, but Ginny pushed the matter from her mind for the time being. If her family was surprised to be hearing orders from her, they did not show it. In fact, they all hastened to obey, and the kitchen was suddenly much less crowded. Even Fleur made herself useful by emptying the cabinets and cupboards of all the old food. Only her mother and father sat at the table now. The young girl would have liked to spend some time with Harry, but she presumed that he had gone upstairs with Ron to help in the cleaning process as well.

"Oh, Fred," her mother cried, seemingly oblivious to anyone else in the room. This had happened twice before in front of her, so Ginny mentally prepared herself for the words of grief. "My poor baby…my poor little boy."

The tea kettle on the stove began to whistle loudly, and the two young girls busied themselves with pouring hot water into cups. Hermione kept glancing at Ginny with concern, as if the sixteen-year-old would suddenly break down into tears as well. That was definitely not her style, and Ginny was rarely ever weepy in front of other people. However, she did find herself longing to be alone at the moment, which would be largely impossible in the crowded house.

Once the tea had been made (luckily tea bags did not spoil as easily as the other food in the cupboards), they neatly laid out the cups on saucers around the table. Ginny's father accepted his with a mumbled word of gratitude, but he would not meet her eyes. He was crying. Ginny grabbed two full cups of tea, sent a glance at Hermione, and backed out of the garden door. George was sitting on the back steps, staring up at the dark sky overhead. It was so cloudy that the stars were hidden, but the fast-moving wind promised a brighter day tomorrow. She handed down a cup.

George didn't speak, but he sipped at his tea lightly, watching steam rise from the surface of the liquid to twist in the chilly air. Ginny much preferred this spot than inside the musty kitchen, and she looked out over their backyard with an appraising eye. Maybe she would get out her broomstick and fly tomorrow. It was still considered early spring, and the buds on the trees were barely open. Still, the orchard would provide her with enough cover to set up a bewitched goal post. Her mother and father may not approve of her using magic before she was seventeen, but there was no legal repercussions if underage wizards practiced magic in magic household. She contemplated how best to practice for the new year.

They sat in silence for several long minutes, and then the backdoor opened. Her father and Bill were pulling on coats. "We're going to walk to town to get food for tomorrow," said her oldest brother. "Mum's already in bed."

"Okay," she said. "Be safe."

"We won't be gone long, and we've got our wands," replied her father, brushing her gently on the head. His eyes were red, but he seemed much more composed than earlier. She watched the two of them walk up the dirt runway that was once reserved for their old flying Ford Anglia, and then the darkness swallowed them whole.

She touched George on the shoulder. "Are you done with your tea?"

"Yeah. Thanks."

She took his cup and went inside. George followed shortly, but he didn't stop to talk on his way up the stairs. It seemed much fresher in the house after sitting out in the cool May air, and Ginny set all the dirty dishes in the sink to be washed later. The only people at the table were Hermione and Fleur, who were still nursing their own cups of tea. Ginny sat down beside them, and she had a clear view of her mother's infamous clock. All the hands were pointing to home except her father's and Bill's (which merely pointed to "Town"). It was a big difference from the previous time she had inspected the clock. No one was resting on "Mortal Peril".

She stood up once more, going closer to the clock to search for Fred's name among the hands. Part of her had hoped that it would still be there among their numbers, pointing to some ambiguous term. However, it had broken off the face and sat at the bottom of the clock. Ginny opened the little door and removed it carefully. Her dead brother's face still smiled up at her, oblivious to the world that he had just been removed from their family heirloom. Perhaps there was a way to amend the situation, but Ginny, feeling slightly sick, delicately placed the hand on top of the dust covered wood.

"I'm going to bed," she said.

Hermione half stood up in her chair, as if she had something more to say, but Ginny did not wait to hear. She trudged up their crooked spiral staircase, half hoping that she would pass Harry on the way to her room. He was nowhere to be found, however, and she dimly wondered whether he had also gone to bed on this miserable night. She wasn't sure what she wanted to happen between the two of them, but Ginny knew that she would have just preferred his company if nothing else. Part of her wondered if he was avoiding her, and although it sounded ridiculous, it was exactly the sort of thing Harry Potter was likely to do.

One of her brothers had passed through her room to clean up. The sheets were changed out on the bed and the dust was cleared. Although it still smelled slightly in her bedroom, she collapsed on her bed fully clothed. There was a poster of the Holyhead Harpies on the ceiling from when they had won the 1995 British and Irish League Championship. The captain, Gwenog Jones, led them on a victory lap around the field. Ginny had a few posters around her room, and she watched them, thinking wistfully.

"Ginny?" asked a quiet voice.

Hermione had come up from downstairs. She poked her head around the door in a kind of timid way, The redhead did not enjoy being treated this way, like she was a dungbomb about to go off. She was sad and full of grief, of course, but part of Ginny had been prepared for death almost her whole life. War hardened a person.

"Yeah?"

"Are you okay?"

Ginny lifted her head inches off the pillow to look at Hermione. "I'm fine. Thank you for asking, though. I appreciate it."

The older girl opened the door a little further and came inside. She was still dressed in dark clothes from this morning, and they did nothing to hide the paleness of her cheeks and the circles around her eyes. From her pocket, Hermione withdrew a worn beaded bag. She tossed it on the desk, where it made a loud noise disproportionate to its size.

"Damn. That'll be the books again."

Ginny gave a small chuckle, and turned her head back toward Gwenog Jones. "I'm not even going to ask."

"Good, because you do not want to see. It's a mess. I blame it on your brother."

They lapsed into silence for a moment, but Ginny had the distinct impression that Hermione wanted to say more. Her brown eyes darted to the older girl, who was now sitting on her desk chair, fingering the threadbare strings of the bag she had just thrown down.

"Ginny," Hermione started. "Can I stay in your room for a while this summer? I would go home, only I don't really know where my parents are now."

Ginny sat up and blinked. "What do you mean, Hermione?"

She had not given Hermione's parents a single thought over the year, and Ginny suddenly felt guilty. It was easy to forget that the bushy haired girl had a family and a life outside of their immediate circle, mostly because she spent so much time with them. Hermione's face went slightly red, and she looked down at her lap. Her hands were twisting nervously.

"I sent them to Australia."

"How?"

Hermione met Ginny's eyes, as if it were important that the latter understand. "I erased their memory of me and made them think that they wanted to go live in another country. It was safer for them that way."

"Blimey," said the sixteen-year-old quietly. The enormity of the situation was just now beginning to come apparent. Australia was a big country. "Of course you can stay here, Hermione. I wouldn't have it any other way."

"Thanks. Please don't tell your parents about this right now. I don't want to add any extra stress on the situation. It's just not worth it."

Ginny swung her legs back to the ground. She had half a mind to march to her mother's room and tell her right now. "This is serious, Hermione. We could help you."

"Yes, I know," she said rather quickly. "I definitely want help finding them, but there's so much going on. If my parents have made it safely this far, then a few more weeks won't hurt anything. Please promise?"

"If you insist."

The younger girl was still unconvinced, but she pushed the matter from her mind. It was Hermione's decision after all, only she could not imagine doing the same to her own parents. Ginny had always been under the impression that her friend had a difficult relationship with the people she called 'mum' and 'dad'. She had never asked, of course, but that was the only explanation she could fathom for their lack of tangible presence in Hermione's life. It was the only thing that made sense.

Ginny get out the spare cot from underneath her own bed. Although she had desired solitude moments ago, she found herself looking forward to the prospect of sharing a room with Hermione. It made sleeping alone in the dark a much less frightening task, and they had shared the room the past few summers anyway. It felt odd to be back in the Burrow with the thought that her brother was dead.

"Goodnight, Ginny," Hermione said in the darkness of the bedroom once they had finally laid down for sleep.

"Goodnight. I'll be up early to play Quidditch."

"Okay. Be safe."

On the other side of the room, the sound of Hermione's breathing slowed as she fell asleep. Ginny turned over to face the wall, and even in the dark she could still see the outline of a poster tacked up over the desk. Gwenog Jones was smiling, taunting the world with her good looks and talent. _What if_, thought Ginny with a rush of sudden inspiration. _What if I tried out? What if I could make the team this summer?_ It was a wild and daring thought, but she had dreamed of playing for the Holyhead Harpies for as long as she could remember. She had one year left of school, of course, but if Viktor Krum could do it, so could she.

The war was over, and there were crazier dreams to follow.

* * *

It was early in the morning when Harry woke up on that beautiful Monday. It couldn't have been more than just a few minutes past dawn, because the light outside was bright and there were birds chirping from outside Ron's bedroom. The events of yesterday flashed through Harry's brain as he stared around at the orange wallpaper.

Ron's bedroom still smelled faintly like the ghoul.

His night had been restless. Bad dreams wove in and out of his consciousness, and he awoke several times throughout the night. Most of the dreams had been vague and confusing, but there had been a common theme: he saw Voldemort rising up from the ashes of Dumbledore's tomb, and all his dead friends crowding him with a single unending question.

"Why?"

Harry said this out loud to no one in particular, but Ron grunted in his sleep and turned over. Thinking that he would better spend his time doing something more constructive than lying in bed, Harry stood up and stretched. He felt so much better than he had the past few days, even with a night of restless sleep. His bruises were green in color now, and the cuts had all but scabbed over. He glanced darkly at the the plaque he had placed on Ron's desk. Order of Merlin, First Class. Harry knew that it was big deal, but he couldn't help feel that everything had been exaggerated out of proportion. One thing was sure, he didn't really want that award.

The Burrow was far from silent, even at this hour of the morning. Harry could hear someone up and walking around downstairs, and the Ghoul was rattling pipes in the attic. He wandered to the bathroom, passing a window on his way. Ottery St. Catchpole was just beyond the trees, but Harry could only make out the sun rising up over the horizon. Despite everything that had happened over the last few days, the sky was peaceful and calm. It felt slightly contradictory to be staring out at sunshine. If the weather reflected Harry's mood, it would have been cloudy at least…and very cold.

He meant to continue on, but there was a flash of red between the trees. He narrowed his eyes, heart hammering in his chest, but it was only a Weasley playing Quidditch. Upon further inspection, he was surprised to see Ginny, throwing a quaffle through the makeshift hoops that they had tied up into the trees several summers ago. She was very good; her thin body would arch to support the force of her throw, and she made it every single time. The ball had been bewitched to soar back in her direction, and with each catch, Harry found himself more and more enamored. He knew that she was good, but a year without Quidditch had deprived him of that same wonder and awe.

"Harry?"

He jumped in response to his own name, even though he had not been doing anything worth hiding. Glancing around, he was not surprised to find Hermione still in her sleep things, her bushy brown hair even more unkempt after a night of sleep.

"I was just…," his voice died in his throat as Hermione went to stand beside him, staring out at Ginny. The youngest Weasley made a particularly difficult catch, reaching out with both hands while hooking her knee over the broomstick. Harry was surprised that she managed to stay on; it was if she was supported by nothing but the air. Hermione, however, turned to watch Harry, her eyebrows raised. He was annoyed at her knowing smile; the witch could often tell what he was thinking.

"She let me know that she would be getting up early to practice. I think it makes her feel better."

"Yeah."

"You should go play with her."

"No," he replied quickly. "I don't have a broom anymore, and she probably doesn't want to be bothered."

Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but before she could think of a response to counter his statements, the door to Ron's bedroom opened once more. She blushed furiously at the sight of Ron, and adjusted her bath robe almost unconsciously. Harry thought it was an odd behavior, especially since they had just spent the majority of the year in each other's presence at all times. Ron likewise seemed embarrassed to be found in his pajamas, but he recovered quickly and frowned at the two of them.

"Good morning. What's up?"

"Nothing," Harry replied. "Ginny's playing Quidditch."

"I was just about to tell Harry that he could probably borrow your broom if he wanted to play."

Ron yawned, which seemed a convincing enough response to Hermione. She relaxed slightly, and smiled up at the two of them as if nothing strange had even transpired. Ron was still oblivious. "Yeah, sure," he said. "At least until you get a new one."

Harry shot Hermione a look as Ron continued on to the bathroom. When he was fully out of earshot, she frowned and said, "We need to talk at some point."

"Apparently, we do," Harry replied in the same forward tone.

Deciding that he would rather go downstairs than wait in the bathroom line with an irritated Hermione, Harry wandered off. The main staircase in the Weasley family was steep and rather uneven. It took more concentration than normal, and it often spiraled in weird places. The hand railing was still thick with dust, and Harry, who knew that someone would have to clean it eventually, took out his wand and vanished it all the way down the stairs. He was prepared for a cleaning day; Mrs. Weasley had probably already drawn up a battle plan for the house. In fact, he was not surprised at all to see her in the kitchen, already cooking up breakfast. She looked like she had slept worse than he had.

"Good morning, Harry," she said, with an air of forced pleasantry. "We have eggs and sausage for breakfast. Arthur went to the store last night."

"Smells delicious," he replied, sitting down at the table. There was a copy of the Daily Prophet already on the wooden surface. He reached for it, but Mrs. Weasley caught his arm.

"It's kind of a mess right now," she said softly. "They haven't released the list of casualties yet, and they don't really know what to report."

He nodded. The front page paper was filled with a picture of himself yesterday accepting the reward. "I expected as much, but I just want to know what's happening right now."

Mrs. Weasley withdrew her arm, but did not comment. She went back to cooking, although it was rather unnecessary; the eggs were flipping themselves. Skipping right past the front page article about himself, Harry continued on to the body of the newspaper. It was smaller than usual, as if they had sacrificed stories in light of the confusing news. In fact, most of the paper was devoted entirely to WANTED ads depicting the faces of several missing Death Eaters. He felt anger slide down his throat like burning liquid when he noticed that both McNair and Yaxley had somehow escaped capture. An uncontrollable desire to bring them to justice filled Harry, and he found that he was surprised at his reaction. Hadn't he had enough of this?

The back door to the kitchen opened, and Ginny stepped inside. Harry quickly put aside the newspaper to smile at her in greeting. Even though her skin shimmered slightly from sweat and her hair was windswept, she was still lovely to look at. The thought made Harry feel guilty even before it had fully crossed his mind. What was wrong with him? He was a dead man walking a little over two days ago, and now he was fully conscious of every bit of blood that pumped through him. He looked back down at the newspaper, reading without even seeing.

"Good morning, Mum," Ginny said, kissing her mother on the cheek.

"Good morning. Quidditch?"

Ginny sat down at the table. "Yeah, I couldn't sleep."

Harry knew from Hermione that the act of playing Quidditch had been a forethought, so he realized without a physical sign that the girl was being evasive around her mother. Mrs. Weasley was normally very accurate at discerning the truth, but her super powers in that area seemed not to work on Ginny (perhaps due to the fact that they were so similar in personality). Harry didn't comment, and he was saved an awkward silence between him and Ginny when Percy came down the stairs, fully dressed and awake.

"Percy!" Mrs. Weasley said in shock. "You aren't going to work, are you?"

"Just for an hour or two," he replied sheepishly. "I need to know what's going on!"

Mrs. Weasley opened her mouth to reply, but she shut it almost instantly and forced a smile on her face. Harry had noticed that she had been picking and choosing the battles with her children very carefully the last few days. It was as if Fred's sacrifice had opened her eyes to just how grown up her children had become. Percy picked up Harry's discarded newspaper, and he ruffled through it with interest. The black-haired boy suddenly had an idea.

"Hey, Percy? Can you try to see what's going with the Death Eaters?"

Percy looked at him over his horn-rimmed glasses. "Thinking of helping, Harry?"

"No," he replied quickly. Mrs. Weasley and Ginny were staring at him very intently, and he felt his face grow hot. "Just curious. That's all."

Percy looked like he wanted to say more, but Mr. Weasley came in from outside. Judging from his slightly dirty jumper and disheveled hair, he had been cleaning out the shed. He poured himself a cup of tea, and then offered one to the people at the table. Harry gratefully accepted the warm drink. His stomach was beginning to growl, and the sausages in the frying pan smelled wonderful.

"Mum," Bill said from the staircase. "Ron is taking too long in the shower."

"Just tell him breakfast is ready. He'll move faster."

Ginny snorted into her cup of tea, and although it was not an attractive sound, Harry found himself smiling as well. She met his eyes over the top of her mug and made a funny face. For the first time that morning, Harry forgot about his nightmares and the imminent funerals. His heart was significantly lighter as he stood up to help Mrs. Weasley set the table for breakfast.

After a while, Ron trickled down the stairs, his ginger hair still wet from the shower. Hermione followed shortly after, although she still wore her bathrobe over her pajamas. Obviously, she had not been able to get into the bathroom for a shower, but Harry noticed that she had tied the drawstring rather tightly. Mrs. Weasley scolded Ron for taking too long in the shower, but he merely shrugged it off and helped himself to breakfast. If Harry hadn't known how much Ron had missed his mother over the past year, he would've thought the gesture rude. All the same, Mrs. Weasley's cooking had been thoroughly missed. It was certainly better than shriveled mushrooms and tinned tomatoes.

The only people absent from the table were Bill, Fleur, and George. No one mentioned the last person.

"I hope you all have not made plans for today," Mrs. Weasley said, although it was near impossible to make plans when the battle was so fresh in their minds.

"You want us to clean, don't you?" asked Ginny.

Mrs. Weasley pulled out a piece of parchment from the pocket of her robes, and spread it on the table. It was an enormous to-do list, and Harry could see that there were a good fifty items, ranging from "clean the kitchen cabinets" to "weed the garden". A few of the other Weasleys rolled their eyes, but Harry was thankful for the distraction. Cleaning was something he was good at; years of practice at the Dursley's had given him that skill, and he would much rather do a mindless task than the spend the day thinking about everything that had happened.

"I would like everything on this list to be done before tomorrow night. I don't care who does it, but I would prefer if you all shared the burden equally."

There were a few murmurs of agreement, and Harry finally looked back down at his breakfast. At least this time, he knew that Mrs. Weasley wouldn't be trying to separate them like she had before the wedding. He, Ron, and Hermione could spend as much time together as they wanted, really. Things could be different now that there wasn't the threat of Voldemort hanging over their shoulders.

"We need to talk," Mr. Weasley said quite slowly, clearing his throat as though the words were stuck. "Bill and I went to town yesterday. The service will be at the village church on Thursday, but Fred is going to be buried in the graveyard next to your uncles. We've picked out a plot and everything."

There was silence. Everyone looked down at their plates as though they would much rather ignore the present conversation. It was Ginny who spoke up first, her voice eerie in the stillness of the kitchen. "Did you pick out nice flowers at least?"

"We picked out…a headstone."

Mrs. Weasley made a choking noise, halfway between a sob and a cough. She quickly covered her mouth, and turned her back to them while she cleaned something that certainly did not need further cleaning. Mr. Weasley, breathing deeply though his noise as though he were in physical pain, acknowledged them once more.

"Yes, we picked out the headstone, but the Diggorys actually offered to plan the other details for us. It will be a rather small ceremony."

"He would have preferred it that way," Ginny said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "There should be fireworks at least."

"Fireworks?"

She did not reply, but challenged them with that burning look in her eyes. Mr. Weasley nodded absentmindedly, but Harry was not really sure that he fully understood his daughter. It was weird to see the Weasleys so distant from their grief. He couldn't imagine what it felt like to lose a child, but he would have expected more signs of misery. Aside from the occasional hiccup or two, Mr. and Mrs. Weasley simply looked lost. Last night had been a strange situation. Harry had never seen Mrs. Weasley cry like that before, so it was easy to separate that from his mind.

"Fireworks it is," Charlie said with finality.

For the rest of the meal, there was a small attempt at conversation. Harry contented himself with just listening, and he chewed his eggs quietly as everyone talked. Percy and Mr. Weasley were discussing the office, and Percy seemed to think that the Auror department was low in numbers. He gave Harry several poignant looks from across the table, but the latter pretended that his toast was much more interesting. It hadn't even been twenty-four hours since Kingsley offered him that position at the Ministry, and he was already being pressured into accepting a job. That was the last thing he wanted…honestly.

Maybe.

"All right, I'm leaving," Percy said. "I won't stay long, I promise."

"Send Kingsley our regards," Mr. Weasley replied as his son swooped down to kiss his mother on the cheek. "Tell him that I'm here if he needs me."

"But ONLY if it's an emergency," Mrs. Weasley warned.

"Yes, dear. Family first."

Harry watched through the kitchen window as Percy disappeared beyond the gate, his cloak snapping around his heels as he turned on the spot. Bill and Fleur finally came down the stairs, and they were dressed to clean the house as well. Unsurprisingly, Fleur was still as impressive as ever, even in jeans and a old shirt. She filled a plate with some eggs and sausage, and then turned to face Mrs. Weasley.

"I zink George would like breakfast, no? I will take it to him."

Her voice was soft, but it was obvious that she was concerned. Mrs. Weasley simply nodded, a blank expression returning to her face. Once again, silence descended upon the family. The elephant had been mentioned, and no one wanted to acknowledge that presence. Harry decided that now was the best time to take a shower. He got up, cleaned his plate off, and then hurried up the stairs. Unfortunately, however, he passed Fleur on the staircase. She was standing outside the twins' old bedroom. It was still forcibly shut.

"George, please!" she said.

It was painful, but Harry stopped to see if the door would open. After a few moments of nothing, he joined Fleur on the landing and knocked as well.

"George, it's Harry. You should take breakfast. It was good."

The door opened, and the three people stood for a moment in shock as though they were surprised to see each other. George looked awful, like he hadn't slept at all. His hair was disheveled and dirty. He accepted the plate of food with a mumbled word that might have been 'thanks', but then he closed the door once more. It was clear their presence was not wanted. Fleur sighed, and exchanged a sad look with Harry.

"I feel like an intruder in zheir grief," she said quietly.

"Me too."

* * *

The first thing Percy did when he arrived at the Ministry of Magic was to stop by the Office of International Correspondence. He had a letter clenched tightly in his hand, and he couldn't help but feel slightly nervous as he entered the tiny office. There was only one person, and it was a young witch who looked slightly frazzled. A pile the size of a small child stood on the front desk, and she was desperately sorting them into much smaller bins scattered around the office. The entire building was full of people in various stages of panic. Some offices were crammed with workers, while others had no one at all. They still had not been able to sort out those in hiding from people who were traitors. Kingsley had been making a point to visit each section of the Ministry to start the long process of weeding out those that had been friendly with the dark side.

"I'm really busy right now, Mr. Weasley," said the frazzled witch. "I'm sorry."

"It's okay, I can do it. Which bin goes to America?

She jerked her head to the back corner, sorting through letters addressed in what Percy recognized as Kingsley's own handwriting. Had he already started notifying foreign countries of their situation? That was fast. "Just those over there. You gotta know which region it's headed. The capital is in the Northeast."

"No, this one goes to the Southeast, actually. Thanks though."

He went to the appropriate bin, and dumped the letter on top of the small pile. It had been addressed to his girlfriend, and Percy hoped that Audrey would get it soon. Normally, sending something to America took almost as much time as the Muggle Post (you can't send an owl over water), but government mail was significantly faster. He probably should not have been using it, but desperate times called for desperate measures. The letter described the battle and everything that had transpired since she had left the country nearly a month ago. She was going to be mad at him regardless of what he said. For his sake, he hoped Audrey would be forgiving, but Percy thought he deserved every bit of her unhappiness and anger.

He thanked the girl sorting the mail and hurried on up to his former office. He had been working as the Junior Assistant to the Minister at the time of Scrimgeour's murder and the rise of Thickness. They kept him in that position, even though his family was a well known supporter of Dumbledore. Percy had the sneaking suspicion that they only wanted him so they could spy on family.

It was very strange to be walking around the halls of the Ministry without fear now. He had been so convinced those last few months that they were just going to kill him on the spot that it felt weird to be so openly present. A couple people even nodded to him as he passed (albeit nervously), which was a drastic difference from several months ago.

"Percy Weasley," Kingsley said in his slow, even voice when the young man entered the top office. The other wizard had his cloak off, and the crisp sleeves of his oxford were pushed up past his elbows. He looked like he meant business, and he was proof-reading a giant roll of parchment. "Can I help you?"

Percy anxiously adjusted his glasses. "Er, this was where I was working before the fall, sir. I came to see if I was still needed."

He waited patiently while Kingsley cast a look around the room. The new Minister had mostly surrounded himself with trustworthy people, and they were hurrying about with great importance. "Will I be able to trust you, Mr. Weasley?"

"Of course, sir."

"Would you be willing to undergo interrogation via Veritaserum to prove this?"

Percy had expected as much. "Yes, sir."

"Good," Kingsley replied, handing off the roll of parchment to another worker. He put a hand on the young man's shoulder and led him toward his office. Of course, Percy had been inside that office plenty of times before under different occupants, but he had never seen it so bare. The walls had been stripped of all decoration, and the only items in the room were for necessity only. He noted that Kingsley did not shut the door, and there were Hit Wizards stationed around the floor who watched his every move. They did not trust Percy Weasley at all right now, but the young man was determined to prove himself.

"We will schedule that as soon as possible. Perhaps in a few hours or so? I want to place you back in the Department of International Magical Cooperation if you have no objection. We could use your prior experience to coordinate with the countries across the channel. I believe several Death Eaters escaped in that direction, and we need them brought to justice."

Percy was actually disappointed by this demotion, but he wasn't going to dare complain. "I have no objections. Thank you, sir."

"Good, there has been a lot of shuffling these past few days. I like to hear an eagerness to do one's duty when it comes to fixing this country. I believe you will do well there."

Percy didn't speak, but nearly acknowledge the other with a slight bow of his head. It certainly could have been worse. He had been worried that the new minister would have kicked him out entirely.

Kingsley continued. "I have been meaning to speak with you, however. Harry Potter is staying at your house, correct? I want to know whether you have had much contact with him."

"Some," Percy admitted, feeling a little taken aback by such a question but not at all surprised. "He's been rather quiet."

"I offered him a job yesterday, but he was uncertain. Has he mentioned this at all?"

"No, but he did ask about missing Death Eaters."

The minister looked hopeful. "That is good to hear. It means he is somewhat interested, and I really need him in the Auror Department right now. The Malfoys have come forward with names in exchange for a lighter sentence. If anyone can track down hiding Death Eaters, it is that boy."

* * *

Later that afternoon, after helping Ron clean out his bedroom, Harry returned down to the kitchen to check the list for his next assignment. They had been cleaning all day, but the work was welcome because conversation was not required. He had already cleaned the kitchen cabinets and dusted the mantle over the fireplace. Before Harry could check the list, however, he was greeted by Hermione, whose bushy hair was tied back with a bandana. She grabbed his arm and dragged him to the scullery.

"We're going to wash the furniture covers."

"Sounds…fun?" he said.

She rolled his eyes at him. With a flick of her wand, the covers that normally accented all the armchairs in the sitting room flew up and began washing themselves in the basin. Hermione pushed herself up on top of the counter, and looked at Harry with raised eyebrows.

"What?"

"I told you we were going to talk today, so here we are talking," she replied. "How's your scar?"

"I haven't really thought about it. It doesn't hurt at all."

He brushed aside his short fringe and showed her the old mark on his forehead. When he glanced at it that morning in the mirror, he couldn't find anything significantly different, but there was still something that made him feel as though everything had changed. Hermione ran a finger over his scar, but it wasn't painful or anything. He shrugged, and she looked quite impressed.

"I suppose that means he's dead."

"Thanks, Hermione," Harry replied sarcastically. "Apparently, you don't have faith in me."

She frowned at him, waving her wand almost lazily as she wrung out a duvet. "That's not what I meant, Harry Potter. Besides, I don't think he'll ever be truly gone. I kept seeing him last night in my dreams."

"Yeah. I woke up a few times thinking he was still out there."

They were silent for a few moments, and Hermione placed the wet covers in a hamper for them to take out to the line in a little bit. They started on the next load. It was a fairly easy task with magic, and Harry thought it was rather funny that they shut themselves in the scullery to work. One person could have easily done it by themselves.

"How are you, though?" Hermione said. "And don't tell me that you're fine."

"I am fine! Why wouldn't you believe me?"

She sighed. "I miss the old Harry."

"What do you mean?" he asked defensively.

"I miss the Harry that used to dual Ron with those silly fake wands in the back of Transfiguration Class…or the Harry that got his butt kicked in wizards chess…or the Harry that would get up early to play Quidditch on the weekends…"

"That wasn't voluntary…"

"…or what about the Harry that didn't look so afraid of everyone who crossed his path."

"I'm not afraid of anyone."

She looked at him poignantly. He had crossed his arms over his chest, and he was staring at her with a mixture of disbelief and slight hurt. Hermione obviously had no idea what she was talking about. Why wouldn't he be any other Harry than the one he had always been?

"There are different kinds of fear. You're afraid to say something wrong, and it's not like you."

"Fine," he said grumpily. "What do you want me to do?"

She twisted a strand of hair that had escaped her bandana. "I want you to admit to yourself that you are really hurting. This year was not good for you."

"This year was awful, Hermione. I already know that."

Recognizing defeat, Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "Okay, Harry."

She grabbed the basket of wet covers and opened the door to the scullery, balancing it on her hip like she did this often. Harry followed her begrudgingly. He knew that he should've offered to carry the stuff, but he felt rather vindictive toward Hermione. She noticed the expression on his face, and gave another long drawn out sigh.

"Don't look at me like that, Harry. I was just saying what I was thinking."

They stepped outside, feeling the warm spring air brush lightly against their exposed skin. "Well, I'm not the only one afraid of people."

"What do you mean?"

"I've seen the way you look at Ron…"

She nearly dropped the basket of covers in surprise at his outburst, and she turned to look at him. Harry noticed that her cheeks were rather flushed, and she looked around to see if anyone had overheard. The only other person outside in the garden was Mr. Weasley, and he was pulling weeds out of the bushes, completely oblivious to them. Satisfied that he was not going to listen to their conversation, Hermione started placing the covers up on the clothes line.

"So you've noticed?"

"Of course I noticed. You guys kissed right in the middle of the battle. I would have been blind not to see that."

She looked nervous. "Yes, well…but what did that mean?"

"I'm pretty sure the meaning of a kiss is universal…"

"That's not what I meant," she said rather forcibly, shoving a wet pillow case into his hands for him to hang up. "It's like he's giving me mixed signals. He doesn't say it outright, and I don't know whether he even likes me or not. Of course, I could be just overreacting…"

Harry sighed. "Ron's liked you for forever."

"Yes…I suppose."

"Hang on," Harry asked. "Do you want to be with Ron?"

She bit her lip, looking about once more even though the coast was perfectly safe. "Can I trust you?"

"Hermione, you pulled me from the jaws of a giant snake. Our level of trust has extended beyond the normal range."

"Well…truthfully, I've liked Ron since second year, but I tried to give up on him after a while."

Harry laughed, and the sound took him by surprise. "Trust me, Ron really likes you. He's just too thick to do anything. You should try saying something first. If you rely on him, you'll be waiting several more years. If it wasn't for the war, I bet you'd already be buying him necklaces that say 'My Sweetheart' on it."

"Harry James Potter, there will be no necklaces, I can assure you that."

"We'll see."

Hermione's face was thoughtful as they hung up the rest of the laundry. Harry was silent, but he absentmindedly glanced back up at the Borrow towards Ginny's window, hoping to catch a glimpse of the ginger hair against the pale pink of her bedroom walls. Although the window was open to coax a stray breeze, the room was dismally empty. Frowning slightly, he pinned the edges of the last pillow cover to the line, but his mood was lower than before.

"I have to ask," Hermione said slowly, but Harry interrupted her.

"I know what you're going to ask, and I'm not going to answer the question."

"Okay," she responded quietly. "It's your choice…but try to remember that she has feelings, too."


	5. Chapter Five: Funerals, Part One

**A/N: **I'm really sorry, guys. This chapter is horrible, and I could not fix it no matter how hard I tried. As you can tell by the title, this is the first part of the funerals. It's really hard to capture that emotion on paper, and the circumstances of this week made it even harder. You see, because life is ironic, I wound up having to go to a funeral myself. My fiancé's grandfather passed away, and I spent a total of three full days with the family on no sleep (because I lived the furthest away). I am pretty close with his family, so it was rough losing the man who had graciously welcomed me into his home for several Christmases in a row. At least I was able to express some of that emotion in the story, even if it completely sucked. My goal in this chapter was to capture how disoriented and distant you feel during a funeral/wake, but I'm afraid it wound up being more disjointed. So I apologize in advance for any amount of cringing.

Good news, though. I will (hopefully) be posting a lot more. I signed up to do Camp NaNoWriMo this April, so I have to have 50,000 words done by the first of May. I have two other stories that I'm currently working on right now (prequels to "One Summer" actually), but I won't be including them in the word count. Maybe I'll actually finish this story. That would be beyond awesome.

Time to answer some reviews!

**pam1990**: The dynamic between Harry and Hermione is one of my favorite parts of the Harry Potter series. I know a lot of people ship them together, but I just love them so much as friends. They make a really good team together, and it kind of demonstrates the idea that you can love someone without it having to be romantic. I think a lot of people forget that such a relationship can exist, and I wanted to include that in the story. Hermione and Harry understand each other on a completely different level than either of them have with Ron, and that's what makes their friendship beautiful.

**JustYourVoice**: Do you really like Percy? Oh, I'm so glad, because I have this headcanon about him that I just can't shake from my mind. In fact, that's one of the other stories I'm working on right now. It's going to be awesome. It will be called "The Prodigal Son", so keep an eye out for it!

**YOLOYOYO**: Your username is awesome! Thank you so much for the compliment. I'm certainly no JKR, but your review made me feel super good about myself.

* * *

**CHAPTER FIVE**

**Funerals, Part One**

* * *

"Dammit!"

Hermione paused on the landing outside of the bathroom door, her hands still full of the freshly laundered towels that she had intended to take upstairs to the linen closet. A string of colorful curse words issued out from the gap under the door, and she knew that the voice could only belong to Ginny (who was rather prone to swearing anyway). What she was doing in the bathroom, Hermione had no clue, but she could hear her friend groan and stomp her feet in frustration. Shifting the laundry over to her other hand, the bushy-haired girl knocked on the door, slightly concerned.

"Ginny? It's Hermione."

The door swung open almost immediately. Ginny was standing barefoot in a Muggle dress that was not quite zipped up in the back. Her face was flushed with the usual Weasley temper, but her long red hair had been washed and dried neatly. The dress was simple; dark navy blue with three-quarter sleeves, but it was a size too small. Ginny looked like she was struggling to breathe properly, and the stitching would not allow her arms to reach her back. It was obviously a dress that she had not worn for several years.

"Sorry," Ginny replied shortly. "The damn dress won't zip, and it's the only appropriate thing I have to wear tonight."

Tonight. It was a terrible thought. In a few hours, they would start the dreaded task of attending funerals, something that would take a total of three exhausting days. It was Tuesday afternoon, four sunrises since the end of the war. Time had been moving uncharacteristically slow lately, and each day felt like an eternity. It was only last night that Professor McGongall had sent them a list of the scheduled funerals, but it felt like a lifetime. Tonight was Colin Creevey's wake.

Hermione set down the laundry. "Here, let me try."

Ginny turned around to face the inside of the bathroom, her own reflection staring back at her with the same expression of weary frustration. Hermione tugged hard on the zipper, but it would not go higher than the other girl's bra strap. It was definitely a lost cause, and Ginny knew it just as much as Hermione. Her shoulders slumped forward, stretching the zipper and losing all the progress she had made with the silver metal teeth.

"Forget it. I haven't worn this dress in over two years," she said.

"Well," Hermione said kindly. "Maybe you can borrow something of mine."

The red head raised her eyebrows slightly. Although the two girls were similar in height, they differed greatly in body type. Ginny was built more like an athlete. She was a thin girl with strong shoulders and a small chest. Although Hermione had never considered herself fat, she was definitely bigger than the star Quidditch player. Any outfit of hers would look far too large on Ginny, but the other girl made no complaint whatsoever. They went back to the bedroom, and Hermione dropped off the towels in the linen closet.

It was surprising that Ginny did not have another proper Muggle dress, but then again, her wardrobe was significantly smaller than Hermione's had ever been. It was easy to forget that the Weasley's were actually quite poor, because they always seemed to have exactly what they needed (and they certainly did not want much). Ginny was gifted at turning old hand-me-downs from her brothers into somewhat stylish outfits, but they were a strange mixture of Muggle and Wizard…and nothing was appropriate enough for a wake. Hermione pulled out some of the contents in her beaded bag and dumped it on her cot. The little bag had been significantly emptied over the past two days, but it was still cluttered enough that several items came tumbling up with her Muggle clothes. Phineas Nigellus Black's portrait was one of them, but she hurriedly pushed that back down.

While Ginny shifted through some of the darker Muggle outfits, Hermione found herself distracted with some of the items that had landed on the quilted bed cover. A bit of flashing gold caught her eye, and with a start, Hermione realized that it was nothing more than a Galleon reflecting in the light from the window. However, it was no ordinary Galleon. With a strange sense of nostalgia, Hermione picked up her old DA coin and turned it over. It still bore the same message from several days ago.

It was Neville's call for battle.

"Ginny?" Hermione asked softly. "Do you still carry your DA coin?"

The sixteen-year-old did not immediately respond, but she pulled out a thin chain from underneath the collar of her dress. Hermione had noticed it early, but she had not given it much thought other than confusion over Ginny's choice of jewelry. On the chain was a smaller version of the coin she still held in her hand. Ginny had obviously shrunk it for convenience, but the fact that she still wore it was rather humbling.

"We knew you guys wouldn't dare communicate with us, but it was still comforting to carry it around. When things started to get really bad at Hogwarts, Luna and I managed to duplicate your Protean Charm so we could coordinate the rebellion. Ours can send out messages just as well as Harry's."

"Good thinking."

Ginny nodded, and she let the chain fall back against her chest. "Dennis told me that they are going to bury Colin with his coin."

"Oh," said Hermione. She did not really know what to say. "He deserves a better medal. Colin was very brave."

"I think it's the perfect medal, actually. He really looked up to Harry, but his bravery meant so much more than simple adoration. Colin was the kind of person who fought because it was the right thing to do, not for some selfish reason."

Hermione studied Ginny's face. The younger girl was avoiding her eyes, casting them down to look at a scarf on the jumbled pile of clothes. She still wore the dress that did not fit, but the frustration earlier had obviously not been about old clothes that were too small. Hermione understood empathy enough to pick up on that particular flash of emotion. "I'm sorry for being ignorant, but were you and Colin close?"

"Yes," she admitted. "We were both Gryffindors, and he was one of the first people I met on the train."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

Ginny did not respond to that particular statement, but held up a simple black skirt from the pile. "Can I borrow this?"

"Of course," Hermione responded. "We can roll it up if it's too big."

Ginny pulled out a top from her own closet to pair it with the skirt, while Hermione reflected back on their conversation. Suddenly, the bushy-haired girl had an idea. They were starting to become a little pressed for time (the wake was in a few hours), so she quickly slipped out the door as Ginny changed her clothes. She hurried on up the staircase toward Ron's bedroom, and knocked quietly. The tall, ginger-haired boy was the only person in the room. He half rose from his bed, where he had been reading an old comic book, but relaxed visibly when he saw that it was only Hermione.

"Where's Harry?" she asked.

Ron shrugged. "Out in the garden, I think."

Unwilling to fetch him, Hermione pulled out the rucksack from underneath the camp bed where Harry usually slept. She was reluctant to dig through his things without his permission, but she used her wand to summon Harry's DA coin from the depths of his bag. It was identical to her own coin, but Hermione had personally charmed it to secretly send messages, so she knew that it was quite extraordinary. From his position on the bed, Ron watched her curiously, but he did not comment until Hermione took a seat next to him. She could feel his presence close to her, and the heat rose in her cheeks almost immediately.

"What are you doing?"

"Do you think we should invite the rest of the DA to Colin's wake?" she asked.

"Yeah!" he responded fervently.

She knew from experience that Ron was always keen to agree with her whenever he wished to be in her good books, so she stared sternly into his eyes and repeated the question. His answer was the same. Ron was the type of guy to squirm when he was being untruthful, but the blue eyes were unwavering. "Are you sure, Ron? Would it not be considered rude to show up with a bunch of confused wizards to such a personal moment?"

"It's not like we're going to storm the place."

"True," she said uncertainly, "but I just don't want to infringe upon his family."

"Dennis was in the DA too, and I think that he would really appreciate it if we showed some support. The two of them loved that organization more than we did, and we were the ones who started it. I think we almost have an obligation to go, especially since it's kind of our fault Colin's dead. I bet the rest of his family wouldn't object. We can just tell them that we're friends from school…which is the truth."

Ron said this so firmly that Hermione was no longer reluctant. She glanced up at him, studying the freckles on his nose and the glare in his bright eyes. "When did you become so thoughtful?" she asked quietly.

"Always the tone of surprise…"

"I was joking."

He laid back down upon the bed, and patted the space between them to indicate that there was plenty of room for her as well. Hermione's heart started beating frantically, but she kicked off her shoes and laid her head upon his pillow as well. The bed even smelled like Ron; a somewhat masculine scent mixed with the coconut scented shampoo he had always used. She held out Harry's DA coin between them, and with her own wand, changed the numbers on the side.

CCWAKEAT7STMARKCOVENTRY

There was not a lot of space on the coin, but she hoped the message was clear enough.

Ron reached forward and took the object from her hand, so that her whole attention was devoted solely to him. Hermione paused for a moment to look at the boy she had known for nearly seven years. It was hard to remember past-Ron with present-Ron mere inches from her face, but she vaguely recalled a twitchy boy with a big nose. He had certainly changed. Although he was still somewhat twitchy and awkward, Ron had grown into what she considered a handsome young man. His good looks were subtle. At first glance, he might have been unattractive with his long limbs and freckles, but there were parts she had grown to love. She loved the slope of his shoulders, his strong jawline, and the creases around his eyes when he laughed.

Had she always been this dizzy around him?

"What are you looking at?" he asked, and there was a faint blush in his cheeks.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "I'm looking at you. Would you like me to look elsewhere?"

"No." Ron reached out for her hands. His skin was warm. "I'm looking at you too."

It was cheesy and corny, and yet Hermione felt like melting. She thought back to her conversation with Harry the previous day and reflected on his words. Would she and Ron have been a couple if the war had not gotten in the way? It was an exhilarating thought, even though Hermione was not the type to dwell on what could have been. Nor was she romantic in the slightest…but there was a time for everything.

"Ron," she started. "When this is over, and things settle down, would you want to try a relationship?"

He blinked. "Yeah, I would."

"Nothing serious, of course. We have to think about our careers and school…I mean, we haven't really talked about it, but I would like to go back for that last year and then maybe take S.P.E.W. to the next level. It sounds like a lot, but it probably wouldn't be very fun if I was lonely."

"I wouldn't ever want you to be lonely."

Hermione might have said something else about their possible future, but the words died upon her tongue. Being with him right now was more than she could have ever hoped for at the beginning of the year. They were alive (relatively), they were safe (relatively), and they were happy (relatively). Nothing else mattered now that they had a decent chance at living a somewhat normal life.

"Thank you," she said.

Ron inched a little closer to her on the bed, his hands still clasped firmly around her own much smaller hands. "Can I have another kiss?"

She thought about seriously for a moment or two, but they were on his bed…in his bedroom…alone. Hermione Jean Granger, who never did anything without seriously considering the implications thoroughly first, decided that they were better off waiting until things were clearer. A relationship was a big commitment, and she didn't want to mess things up so early in the trial phase. "Maybe later?"

"Okay," Ron responded, but he looked so disappointed that Hermione might have reconsidered if the door to the bedroom hadn't opened. She quickly sat up, and caught a glimpse of dark hair and the gleam of glasses.

"Sorry!" Harry said hurriedly, and the door closed once more.

Hermione glanced back at Ron. They hadn't even been doing anything, and they had already been caught. She had a funny feeling that poor Harry would spend a lifetime of walking in on them, and she might have felt bad for him if the whole scenario wasn't so embarrassing. Ron, however, started laughing, and the sound was so infectious that a nervous giggle slipped out of her too.

* * *

Coventry was a large Muggle city almost exactly in the middle of England. Ginny had been there once before, but it had been a while ago. When she was the only child left at home, her father had taken her to a few different cities across the country (partly for his own enjoyment, of course), and they had stopped at this particular town once on their way to Birmingham. Unfortunately, however, the memories from that trip were not as clear and sharp as the sky overhead right now. She couldn't remember the town center or the cathedral that stood in contrast to the newer concrete structures. All of this, however, came rushing back to her as she glanced down the narrow alley from which they had arrived. Coventry had not changed in the intervening years, and it was almost as if there had been no war at all.

Even though the sun was as bright as it had been yesterday, there was a slight chill in the air. Goose pimples erupted on Ginny's bare arms, and she crossed them over her chest to keep warm. They had taken a portkey over, but the earth still spun somewhat now that they were on solid ground. Although Harry was unsteady getting to his feet, he declined Ron's offer to help him stand. The dark-haired boy had been looking peaky ever since the end of the war, and Ginny couldn't help but feel a stab of concern. He had dressed smartly in a pair of trousers and a blue button-down oxford, but they were not his and therefore quite big on his skinny frame. He looked out of place in their little entourage, lingering on the edge as though he were afraid of getting too close. His right hand twitched slightly, and the younger girl saw the faint outline of his wand against the sleeve of his shirt. Harry was nervous, and rightfully so. It was the first time that he, Ron, and Hermione had been out in the open for many months.

Ginny knew from Percy that the wizarding population in the United Kingdom had dropped significantly during the war, but the last few days especially had seen a mass exodus as supporters and the general discontented alike fled the country. They were not concerned that someone would attack them at relatively unknown funeral service, but Ginny's father and her brothers Bill and Charlie had come along just in case. She felt like body guards, even though they were technically defending her as well. It had been a long time since the sixteen-year-old felt afraid, but of course, she was no stranger to the nature of fear.

They turned their attention to the little brick building on the other end of the ally. A sign out front said "Saint Mark's Church", and there was a line of colorful automobiles parked on the narrow street. Colin's entire family consisted of Muggles, that much she knew, but Ginny had the distinct impression that there were would be other wizards here out of respect. The DA would be coming at Hermione's invitation, and she was actually looking forward to seeing Neville and Luna once again.

"Let's go," her father said quietly, nudging Ginny to take the first steps.

The door to the little church was thrown open to tempt the fresh spring air, and there was an usher waiting to greet them at the steps. He was a young man with blond hair and bad teeth, but he still offered a hand in greeting to Ginny's father as they climbed up to the front entrance.

"You 'ere for tha visitation?" he said, looking them over with a curious eye. They were mostly thin and pale and dressed in clothes that were not exactly tidy, but none of these seemed to bother him in the slightest.

"Yes," Ginny said. "We're friends of Colin's from school."

"Aye, there's a couple others of you inside. Thanks for coming. He was ma cousin."

There was a bitter look in his eyes, and Ginny immediately felt sympathy for the young man with the bad teeth, because he probably didn't know why his family member was dead in the first place. "We're sorry for your loss," said Ron quietly.

They were directed down a hallway to the left, and they didn't speak as they walked through the church. The still air and the smell of wood polish dictated that silence was the only thing appropriate in such an atmosphere. Ginny did not have much experience with religion, but she immediately decided that she didn't like this little church. It was plain and unwelcoming, and full of important ideals that were incomprehensible to a sixteen-year-old girl. They turned a corner to where the antechamber was located. Close to three dozen people milled about in the room, and the place smelled like moth balls and black dresses that are never worn except for days like these. An open coffin sat in the middle of the room, but from their position, they could only see the pale outline of Colin's nose within the silken folds of the lining. What felt like ice slipped down Ginny's throat, and she suddenly found herself unwilling to approach him. That was not the Colin she had grown to love. That was a body. A dead body.

Ginny could pick out her dead friend's relatives quite easily among the mournful group of people. They were all small in stature like him, and some even had the same blonde hair as the young man out front. It was a large family, not unlike her own. She found Dennis hovering in a corner, and was immediately pleased to see that Neville and Luna were there as well.

"Come on," she said to Harry, Ron, and Hermione. There would be time to stand in line to view the body later.

They wove their way through the crowd, ignoring the curious stares from people as they passed. Interspersed throughout the Muggles were people that they recognized. Several members of the DA, such as Angelina Johnson, Katie Bell, Terry Boot, and Hannah Abbot, nodded to them as they passed. Neville spotted Ginny halfway across the room, and she hurried thankfully into his welcoming embrace. His hug was reassuring, and the scent of him reminded Ginny of those awful nights this past year where they plotted their resistance with Luna. And speaking of which, the Ravenclaw bounced forward to wrap her arms around the both of them in a giant hug. Ginny felt immensely fond of them, especially now in this difficult time. Harry might have had Ron and Hermione, but she had Neville and Luna…and that was good enough for her.

"How've you been?" asked Neville when they finally drew apart.

She grimaced slightly. Was it just her imagination or was Harry giving her an odd look as she released her best friends from their embrace. Was it jealousy? That couldn't have been right. Harry hadn't given her a second thought since that first day. "I'm doing okay. I've been playing a lot of Quidditch lately. It's the only thing that seems to help."

"It's the weather!" said Luna happily. "The Dementers are gone, so you should spend as much time outside. Daddy says that sunshine can make even the darkest thoughts go away."

"Luna, how is your dad?" Hermione asked. "We should have asked earlier."

"He's good. We're happy to be together now that things are better. Unfortunately, we had to move in with my aunt, but we've started working on rebuilding the house. I think we might get a moat this time!"

"That's wonderful," Ron said, "We'll have to come visit."

When they had finished greeting each other, Harry finally turned to Dennis. The fourteen-year-old boy looked small compared to the rest of them (especially Ron), but he had the gangly awkward appearance of teenager who had just went through a great growth spurt. He blushed under his freckles at their acknowledgement, but compared to their own grief, he seemed well. In fact, he stood quite tall and proud, with his Gryffindor tie just visible underneath a black vest. Harry, as inarticulate as he was, merely offered his hand to the younger boy. Dennis shook it earnestly.

"I wish I could have been there," he said. "I wish I could have been there with Colin when he died. I'm proud of my brother, but I wish he would've let me come too."

Harry had not expected this response, judging by the look on his face, but he nodded nevertheless. "I'm really sorry, Dennis. I was hurt when I found out that he was dead."

"What did they tell your parents?" Ginny asked.

"Professor McGongall actually came to visit that night and told us about the war, and that he was very brave. We've told our family that it was a car crash, but it doesn't really do the whole thing justice now, does it? My mum is really heartbroken. Would you do me a favor and talk to her?"

Ginny looked toward Harry, who paled considerably once more. He nodded though, and Dennis escaped through the crowd to bring his parents over to their little huddle in the corner. Ginny knew from a conversation with Colin a few years ago that his parents were now divorced, but seeing the two of them united in their grief made her eyes prickle slightly. Mr. Creevey was the spitting image of his two sons, while Colin's mother was small and had light brown hair. She trembled slightly as she walked, and her ex-husband supported her with a steady hand. It was a humbling image.

"Hello," said Mr. Creevey quietly.

The Boy-Who-Lived stepped forward. "Hi, my name is Harry Potter."

Recognition flickered like lights in their eyes. The two adults glanced at one another, and then down at Dennis who nodded quickly. Colin's mother (Ginny didn't have the faintest idea of what to call her) stepped forward to look at the boy who had cost her son his life. Harry's green eyes were unreadable.

Surprisingly, however, the older woman raised her arms to ask for a hug. Harry, who was much taller, leaned forward awkwardly. "We've heard so much about you. I just want to thank you for whatever you did for Colin."

"I don't understand," Harry replied. "I didn't do anything for him. In fact, I got him…"

"No," she said, interrupting with a stern voice. "You gave him something worth fighting for. He wanted to make the world a better place, and you believed in him and helped him realize what he really wanted…and I'm so proud of him for his choice."

She let go of Harry and stepped back, dabbing at her the corner of her eyes with a handkerchief. Dennis introduced his parents to the rest of them one by one, and Ginny finally got a chance to speak with them personally. She told them how much Colin meant to her, and how sad she was that he was actually gone for good. It was the cookie-cut line that she had recited in her head all day, but the two of them took her words in good stride. They recognized her name as the girl who had often written to their son over the summer, and even a few times during the last semester when the boys had been exiled from school. All the while, Ginny kept an eye on Harry, who had backed out of the circle and stood against the wall. He looked confused.

"Harry?" she asked quietly as the others stepped forward to view the body. "Don't you want to come say goodbye to Colin?"

"I'm good, thanks," he replied, glancing away. "I don't like bodies. I can say goodbye from here."

She wanted to be angry. He was being surly on purpose, of course, but deep down Ginny understood far more than her thoughts could turn into actual sentences. Sometimes, there weren't any correct words to justify the enormity of a situation. She reached over to touch him, gently on the shoulder. Harry looked down at her hand and then back up at her face, and Ginny finally saw what nobody else could see. His green eyes were like shattered glass, and the fractured ghost of her old boyfriend stared back.

The war had broken him, and whoever he had been before was now completely gone.

With this terrible thought in her mind, Ginny turned her back on Harry and walked slowly to the coffin. Her heart beat frantically. Would this new Harry still love her? More importantly, would this new Harry ever get better? She would gladly sacrifice his love for her if it somehow magically made him better. Her own happiness was nothing in comparison to another's health and safety. Colin had taught her that. Brave Colin. Dedicated Colin. Dead Colin.

He wore a simple Muggle suit, but it had been accented with the school tie just as his brother's had been. His eyes were closed and peaceful, and under the pale pink light overhead, he might have been mistaken as sleeping. Ginny knew better, though. His skin was far too drawn to be real, and they had painted his face to hide the lack of color. She touched him briefly on the cheek, and grimaced slightly at the coolness of his skin. He was dead.

Ginny said goodbye.

* * *

When they lowered Lavender's body into the ground, Ron tried very hard to feel something more. _Of course_ he was very sad about her death, but what he was feeling was surely not appropriate enough for the funeral of his ex-girlfriend. He just felt distant, and he was more upset over the loss of a DA member than he was over someone who should've been more important to him. Ron felt guilty. Shouldn't he at least be crying? The person in that coffin had once kissed him, once placed her warm lips against his own. There had been passion between them, if not chemistry, and there had even been a few glorious afternoons where her very alive hands had found their way through the zipper of his school trousers…

_Stop it, Ron!_ he thought furiously.

Now that made him feel even more guilty. His mind should not have jumped to those memories as they piled dirt into the hole. Soon, the light gray of her casket would no longer be visible. He tried to remember something more meaningful about Lavender Brown, but the only thing he could consider was how she had valiantly thrown her life away for the cause.

It was the same old story, again and again.

Beside him, Hermione stood as though she were made of stone. She was a sympathetic cryer, and he knew that the only reason she stared straight ahead was to avoid the sight of Lavender's very tearful parents. If they had made eye contact, even for a second, Hermione would have surely dissolved into tears as well. He wondered how she felt about the whole situation. They were at the funeral of someone he had once dated, and he certainly could not deny the fact that he had liked Lavender a lot. They had shared something special. He wondered if Hermione resented that connection, even as the earth reclaimed her broken body. It was hard to imagine a jealous Hermione, but she had once sent several dozen angry birds after him. There had been tears on her face, and it had absolutely broken his heart.

_Oh, fuck…_

Here he was thinking about another girl at the funeral of his ex-girlfriend. He was a horrible person, and Ron allowed those feelings of guilt to bury him as well. Guilt was something more than just mild sadness. He could live with this guilt. It felt more appropriate. Poor Lavender, though. He lowered his head.

Surprisingly, however, Hermione placed her hand within his own and gave it a small squeeze. She would not look away from her concentrated spot on the horizon, but the gesture filled his heart with a strange sensation. She had kissed him during the battle, not even five days ago, and they were going to try to be together. He could survive anything with that desire for another kiss in his mind.

The dirt over Lavender's coffin had formed a perfect mound in front of the pale pink of her granite headstone.

* * *

It was Wednesday, and Harry did not want to see Remus and Tonks either.

He stood near the back of the small crowd, glancing around at the grass and flowers that had begun to blossom in the beautiful weather. He kept moving his feet over the ground, never standing still in one spot for very long, because the grass just looked so sad after it was crushed under the weight of his body. Everything was such a wonderful shade of green that he couldn't help but be amazed. It also looked so soft, and he wanted nothing more than to sprawl on the earthen ground and breath in the crisp scent of life. Green. Harry was toying with the idea that it might be his favorite color. He had never had a favorite color before, but then he remember the rushing flash of _Avada Kedavra_, and he decided that green was most certainly not his favorite.

The funeral official was the same tufty-haired wizard that had presided over Professor Dumbledore's own funeral. He still talked in the same slow, boring voice, and the entire congregation had been lulled into a miserable trance. Harry had completely tuned him out. He was too tired to even pay attention, and his thoughts kept slipping out the cracks in his concentration like water through a broken bottle. Hermione and the Weasleys were standing towards the front, but he didn't have the heart to join them. Sitting still was painful, so he stood quietly in the back, shifting from one foot to the other.

There was a tiny cry from the crowd, and Harry did not realize that it was a baby until Andromeda escaped from the front row. She was clutching a bundle to her chest, and a tiny fist waved in frustration as the infant's cries grew louder. Baby Teddy surely didn't know that he was at his parents' funeral, but his tears suggested otherwise. Andromeda desperately tired to soothe him, rocking the bundle as she walked to the back of the crowd. There were tears on her own face, and her red-rimmed eyes briefly lifted as she met Harry's from across the way. The seventeen-year-old's heart thumped loudly in his chest. He had not had a chance to meet his godson yet, but this time was as good as ever.

His foot did not want to move, but he forced it forward. The second leg followed soon after, with as much difficulty, but he continued this pattern until he was across the way by Andromeda's elbow. Harry was much taller than her, and her resemblance to her evil late sister was all but gone at close proximity. She looked so sad and weary, and the lines on her face had doubled since he had last seen her up close. In less than a year, she had lost her husband, her daughter, and her daughter's husband. Her grief was evident in her posture and in the tears glistening on her cheeks.

"I can take him," Harry said in a quiet voice that would not disturb the ceremony.

Andromeda looked apprehensive. Her eyes narrowed sharply as they darted over his pale skin and tired eyes. Maybe it was obvious that he had never held a baby before, but he was eager and she could not deny the fact that he was Teddy's legal guardian. She struggled internally for a moment, and then gently held out the little baby. He was crying and waving his arms, but Harry immediately took a step forward and braced himself to hold his godson for the first time.

"You've got to support his head."'

He was heavier than Harry had anticipated, but then again, he had not known what to expect at all. This was the youngest human being he had ever seen, and he was amazed at the how different Teddy seemed. It was almost as if the baby were not a human at all, but rather some other strange species found only in rare parts of the world. Harry could not decide whether he found him to be cute or not, because there was something odd in the wrinkled skin and perpetual frown. The face was small and round and slightly squished. His hair changed from dark brown to a blond to a fiery red quickly in his anger. At the present moment, Teddy's eyes were clenched tightly as he hollered, the toothless mouth gaping open. His cheeks were as bright as the setting sun, and each of the limbs waved awkwardly and without coordination.

Harry shifted the baby until he felt more comfortable over the strength of his grip, but Andromeda's hands lingered for a second as if it catch Teddy should he fall. There was no danger, however, and she quickly drew back when she saw that Harry did indeed have control over the situation. He felt strange, though, and an unfamiliar emotion was spreading from the very center of his heart to the tips of his fingers and toes. It was something like compassion and love and understanding all wrapped up together. The seventeen-year-old could not help but make a quiet little sound in the back of his throat as he held his godson close.

Teddy Lupin. The orphan.

"He's just really tired. Can you watch him for me?" Andromeda said. She had drawn her arms tight around herself now that there was no baby to occupy them. Harry could not answer, so he merely nodded his response, and the older woman quietly hurried back to the front row.

The baby had noticed that he was no longer with his grandmother. He opened his tearful eyes and blinked up at Harry. His irises were a murky blue, the kind that suggested a change in color for the future. He still kicked his little feet, and the sounds that escaped from his mouth were something halfway between pitiful and annoying.

"Hey, Teddy," Harry said, sniffing a little as tears threatened to escape his eyes.

Teddy stopped crying, gazing up at Harry with what the teenager assumed was a confused expression. He hiccuped loudly, and then his hair turned jet black.

"I bet you don't know who I am, huh? I'm your godfather. My name is Harry. I don't know why your dad chose me, but I'm happy that he did. You seem like a pretty cool little guy. I mean, your hair even changes colors. Oh…now…now, you're going to cry again?"

That bottom lip trembled slightly as another tantrum threatened to spill over. Teddy was obviously very sleep-deprived. Harry glanced back at the crowd, and then took a few steps away. He walked around the gravestones in the cemetery, and then went to stand under a willow tree thick with new blossoms. Copying Andromeda, Harry bounced his godson up and down, and continued to speak.

"I had a godfather too, you know. His name was Sirius, and he died two years ago. I miss him a lot. They were all friends, did you know that? My dad, your dad, and Sirius. They used to get in a lot of trouble at school, and they didn't always used to make good choices, but then they joined the Order of the Phoenix with my mum. I'm proud of them for that, even though they all died. I'm proud of your dad, because he died fighting honorably."

Teddy stopped crying, and he listened to Harry with sleepy eyes as the other continued to rock him back and forth under the swaying branches.

"So it's just you and me now, Teddy. We're all that's left of the Marauders. I'm going to look out for you, though, cause I know you've got a really rough life ahead of you. Your grandmother loves you very much, and I'm sure she will do everything that she can to make sure that you're happy. I'll take care of the rest, okay? I'll try really hard."

Even though Teddy was too young understand, Harry forced out the words to remind himself that he had made a promise to Remus. He would be what Sirius could never have been; a proper godfather. Due to unfortunate circumstances, they had not known each other long enough to even approach that kind of relationship, so Harry made a promise to both Sirius and Remus that he would everything he could to stay present in Teddy's life.

The little boy in his arms yawned loudly, smacking his lips together as those great big eyes drifted shut. Within moments, he was asleep. His mouth was still set in a firm little frown, but Harry smiled as the black hair faded once more to its natural brown. He looked just like his father.

Glancing up, Harry realized that the funeral service had finally ended. Andromeda stood all alone next to the fresh mounds of earth, her head bowed respectfully. Her husband's grave was on opposite side of her daughter's, and although several months had passed since his death, the grass had not yet grown in front of the headstone. The sight of her surrounded by those graves made Harry feel rather lucky with his own fortunes. He made his way back towards her, passing the Weasleys who were patients waiting for him to join.

"You know," said Andromeda quietly when she had noticed his return. "My sister always said that I would wind up all alone in this world."

"You're not alone," he responded.

She blinked and adjusted the silver bangles on her wrist. "Neither are you, Harry Potter."


	6. Chapter Six: Funerals, Part Two

**WARNING: SOME OF THE THEMES IN THIS CHAPTER (AND SUBSEQUENT CHAPTERS) ARE OF A SENSITIVE NATURE. PLEASE ACT RESPECTFULLY IF YOU CHOOSE TO MENTION THESE THEMES, ESPECIALLY WHEN COMMENTING IN A PUBLIC SETTING. IF YOU HAVE ANY QUESTIONS, COMMENTS, OR COMPLAINTS, I WOULD APPRECIATE A PRIVATE MESSAGE INSTEAD OF A REVIEW. THANK YOU.**

**A/N:** Remember how I said that I didn't like the last chapter? Well, I actually love this one.

**napchic:** Thank you! It was an extremely hard chapter to write.

**Adrian Cliffhunt: **I really appreciate your comments! It bothers me when a character is not canon-compliant (and they are obviously supposed to be). I try really hard, and I'm glad I'm at least somewhat close!

**Bert Canon:** It's funny that you should mention about the chapter not making much progress. These two chapters were originally supposed to be one, but it turned out to be obnoxiously long. So consider this as a continuation of the past chapter. Haha, there is a plot to this story, but it's a hurt/comfort drama so it's not going to be epic. My two other stories actually have epic plot lines, which is why I'm itching to write them...but when I say write, I mean that I've only written like two or three pages. Just when the inspiration hits.

* * *

**CHAPTER SIX**

**Funerals, Part Two**

* * *

To say that Harry woke up on the morning of Fred's funeral would have implied that he had actually been asleep in the first place. Instead, he had simply stared at the clock on Ron's bedside table until the alarm went off, dictating an appropriate time to actually get up. As he and Ron dressed in the silence of that early morning, he would have concluded that he was no more awake than his best friend, who had snored the entire night and was now staggering about the room in a daze. Harry felt sick, and his lack of sleep was dragging him down like weight. He put his clothes on wrong, and it took him way longer than usual to tie his own shoelaces.

Outside of the tiny bedroom window, it was sunny. Far sunnier than it should have been on a day in early spring. Too bright. Too cheerful. It made Harry feel worse on the inside, as if the intense light from the sun were pulling what little energy he had left from his sleepless nights. Ron thought it was best to open the window and let the breeze cheer them up, but it felt awful to Harry. He wanted to crawl under the covers of his little cot and pretend that he was dead.

"You look terrible!" Hermione said to him when they gathered at the breakfast table fifteen minutes later.

Mrs. Weasley, who had been staring helplessly at the gravy in the pot on the kitchen stove, looked up with only the desperation of a very sad mother. She hurried over to Harry's side, and without waiting for his permission, checked his temperature. He tried to squirm away from her touch on his forehead, but she was relentless.

"You don't feel warm," she said slowly. "But you might still be sick."

"I'm fine."

"Maybe you shouldn't go today…"

Harry looked at her, focusing long enough to give her a stern expression. "I'm fine, Mrs. Weasley."

She did not argue the point, but spent the rest of the meal fussing like an overprotective hen. Harry would have said something to stop her, but Bill gave him a cross look over his cup of steaming coffee and the words simply died on the younger boy's tongue. Perhaps having someone else to worry about made Mrs. Weasley feel better. It was certainly hard to ignore the fact that the entire family had dressed once again in black. Even Ginny looked less bright and cheerful. She had been up early practicing Quidditch in the yard, and had only just come down from the shower. There was a black headband to contrast with the brightness of her hair, and her skin was pale and sad. When she looked up at Harry, he looked away because there was nothing he could say to comfort her at this time.

George was the last one to come down the stairs. He was dressed in black as well, but the clothes barely fit him. They were hanging off his frame like rags. He was so pale and sad that it looked as though he had simply wasted away inside. His missing ear was more pronounced than ever, and he still wore a few scars from the night of the battle. The bruises had not healed. He accepted a cup of coffee from his father without a single word, but they didn't pressure him to speak. The minutes ticked by slowly as they waited for the Diggorys to arrive.

Surprisingly, however, the Lovegoods arrived first. Luna trailed in behind her father, looking unusually solemn in a grey dress. She carried an enormous pot of what appeared to be soup, but it smelled so strongly of those gurdyroots that Fleur could only cough as she set it aside in one of the cabinets. Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Ginny finished their food (or rather pushed it aside for a lack of appetite) and followed the Ravenclaw out into the living room. Her gray dress was accented with red and gold thread laced throughout the seams. The effect was rather nice, and Harry knew immediately that she had done it in honor of Fred. It was just like Luna to be so thoughtful, even if it was unconventional.

"Daddy's going to help with everything," she said reassuringly, although they had enough experience with Mr. Lovegood to be concerned. "Is there anything I can get you?"

"Thanks, Luna," Ron said. "But we're okay."

Luna nodded and skipped away like always. Harry glanced at his best friend. Ron had not spoken much that morning other than to open the window, and he could just now see the effect of his brother's death upon his face. Ron looked nearly as bad as Harry felt. His usually cheerful face had fallen into an expression of mourning. Ginny sat on his other side, and they were rather close in physical proximity. As far as siblings go, the two were rarely ever affectionate toward each other, so it was a great testament to their suffering that they had sought support in each other. Harry exchanged looks with Hermione, simply because they both felt so out of place in the family grief.

After a short while, the Diggorys came to help. It had been a long time since Harry had seen them, but they looked just the same as they had on that cold day in June nearly three years ago. Mr. Diggory was a tall man with a ruddy face, while Mrs. Diggory was rather small and kindly. Now that Harry was able to get a good look at them, he could see bits of Cedric in their features.

"Cedric would have been on your side," Mrs. Diggory said in a tiny voice. "Thank you."

Harry could do nothing but nod, and he waited awkwardly until Fleur came to lead them toward the church where the service would be held. Hermione and Ron glanced at him, but Harry ignored their rather poignant looks. It was weird seeing Cedric's parents after all those years, and he could feel the past resurfacing in the pit of his stomach. He just had to make it through today, if at all possible.

George joined them in the living room, and he sat on the arm chair in the corner. Although sounds could be heard from the kitchen as people arrived with great trays of food and words of condolences, the heavy silence between them was thickening. Harry wanted desperately to leave until the ceremony, but he knew that would have been considered rude. So, for the greater part of an hour, he sat absolutely still and picked at a hole in the cuff of his right sleeve.

Aunt Muriel was easily the loudest and most argumentative of all the guests. From their position in the living room, they could hear her barking orders to whoever was arranging the pots and pans. It was unsurprising when Mr. Weasley suggested she take a seat in the living room, but Harry could hear Ron and Ginny groan with anger beside him.

"Oh, you're in here," said the old lady as she stumbled into the room. She cast a beady eye at the four of them sitting side by side on the foot of the staircase, and then turned toward George. She jumped at the sight of him, as though she had mistaken his appearance for that of his dead twin.

"Well, I'm a hundred-and-eight! Aren't you going to offer me your chair?"

"Excuse me," George replied with great sarcasm. "I didn't realize I was intruding on your party."

He sat up, offered the chair to his great-aunt with an over-the-top gesture, and then fell back down on the cushions of the couch. In defiance, he crossed his arms across his chest and looked away with a bitter expression on his face. Muriel took forever to sit down on the old chair, and she dusted imaginary flecks of dirt off before she lowered her bottom. The ridiculous pink feather on her hat floated precariously as she moved about.

"It's your brother's funeral," she said sternly to George as if he didn't already know this. "You would do well to show some respect."

"That's enough, Aunt Muriel," Ginny said.

"Ginevra, dear…"

"Don't call me Ginevra."

"…_Ginevra_, we are a family united by grief in this time. We need to acknowledge this fact and act like civilized mourners."

Ron let out a great huff of air, as though he were trying to refrain from saying anything too harsh. "We're not united by grief, Aunt Muriel. There are a lot of better things to be united over."

"Like what?" George asked, rather quickly.

No one had an immediate answer for George. They sat in a stunned silence for a few moments, and then Hermione spoke out in a tentative voice. "Honor," she said. "We're honoring Fred because we loved him."

"Ah," said Aunt Muriel. "The Muggle-born? Why are you still here?"

"Because she's family," Ron nearly snapped. Hermione put a tentative hand on his arm. Harry noticed the gesture, and turned his head in the direction of his two best friends. Unfortunately, however, Aunt Muriel directed her attention toward him.

"And who are you?"

Ginny briefly gave Harry a desperate look, but then addressed her aunt with a rather sweetly sarcastic tone of voice. "This is Harry, Aunt Muriel."

"Harry? Harry Potter?"

"Nice to meet you," he replied, even though he had already technically met her.

She pursed her wrinkled lips and frowned at him. "You look much better in the papers. I think you're too skinny…and someone should comb your hair."

Harry self-consciously ran a hand through his hair. It certainly looked a lot better now that it was shorter, but that obviously didn't matter much to Muriel. She was staring at him as if trying to judge whether he was the real deal or not. The scrutiny made him feel slightly anxious.

"Do you just live to criticize people?" George asked rather vehemently.

"I'm just giving him constructive feedback," she replied stiffly. "Potter, do you realize that you let some of the most dangerous Death Eaters get away?"

Harry gave her a blank look. When Percy came home the other day (several hours later than he originally said he would return), he had admitted that many of the Death Eaters were still at large, but Harry didn't think the public would have come so far as to blame him. He felt the guilt sink into his stomach like hot liquid drunk too quickly.

"Aunt Muriel!" Ginny said, scathing. She stood up, coming to Harry's defense in a moment of fury. "You have no right to say such things. You are a guest in our house!"

"Why do you care so much?" she sniffed.

Ginny practically exploded in a whirl of emotion. "Because I do, okay? My brother is dead, and I don't want to listen to you fucking nitpick everything because you think we aren't mourning right. Do you know how goddamn awful that sounds?"

She was shaking with anger. Aunt Muriel could do nothing but stare at her niece in shock, so the sixteen-year-old stormed from the room. Harry immediately stood up, but he was ignored completely as she blazed past him. They heard the back door open and slam shut with enough force to shake the china on the mantelpiece.

"Teenagers," muttered Aunt Muriel, tutting indignantly.

Harry looked wildly around at Ron, Hermione, and George, but he could not bring himself to say anything meaningful. Surprisingly, however, Ron was the one who stood up. "I'll get her."

He hurried out to the garden behind his sister, and there was silence for a few long moments. Blinking in surprise, Harry finally managed to sit back down next to Hermione. He was not entirely sure what had just happened, but he was pretty sure Ginny had just admitted to Aunt Muriel and the rest of them that she still had feelings for him.

The old lady huffed slightly. "You know, back in my day…"

"Oh shut up, Aunt Muriel," George interrupted. "I don't want to hear it today."

* * *

Ginny was not sitting in the garden like Ron had expected, so he hurried along to the apple orchard behind the house. That's where he found his little sister, hurtling a Quaffle at a bounce-back net with such force that he was surprised she didn't tear a hole in the mesh. She was muttering, and it was clear that she was in a particularly bad mood. When they had been children, Ron had learned to avoid her like the plague when she was upset, and he had to fight to overcome that instinct right now. She had a mean right hook when she was prompted to use violence, and Ginny had always been able to beat him up despite her size disadvantage.

"Hey," Ron started awkwardly. He had never been good at refereeing or playing the middle man. That was where Percy and Charlie excelled. Growing up, he had always been firmly on one side or the other, and he had usually sided with the twins.

"Go away," Ginny shot back.

"No," he said. "Pass me the ball."

She finally looked up at him, and her brown eyes narrowed suspiciously. After a moment of thinking, she tossed him the Quaffle. It was perhaps a little too hard on purpose, because the ball hit his stomach and knocked the wind right out of him. He doubled over, grunting, but threw it right back with as much force as he could muster. Ron had not played Quidditch in over a year, so he knew that he was rusty in comparison to Ginny. She practically lived and breathed the sport, so there was barely a grimace on her face when she caught the ball with her hands. They continued like that for several moments, and Ron had to remind himself that he was not out there to injure his sister, but rather console her.

"Ignore Aunt Muriel," he finally said.

"I don't want to ignore her," Ginny muttered back as she caught the Quaffle once more. "I want to punch her in the face."

"Trust me, that would be a bad idea."

"Probably."

She sighed after speaking, letting the red ball fall to the ground. Looking at her now, Ron was reminded of that time in the Chamber of Secrets when he thought that she was dead. He and been so scared even then, and the fact that Harry had to go on alone to rescue her still cut him to this day. He was not a hero. Ron had never been able to protect Ginny properly. She always attracted the worse kind of danger anyway, and he knew that she would continue to pursue Harry even if it only meant eventual heartbreak.

"I need you to tell me something," he said.

"Sure."

"What would Fred say if he saw you so sad on a beautiful day like this?"

Surprisingly, she laughed. It was an inside joke between them. Ginny had always been very good at imitating others, and she had often made fun of their brothers over the years. She drew herself up, putting on a slightly pompous but carefree expression. Her mannerisms were very much like Fred, and Ron realized just how much he had already forgotten about his brother over the past few days. "Gee, George!" she said, "I don't know who stuck a broomstick up her twat, but I bet we're related to them."

He smiled at this, because it was just the sort of thing Fred would have said. Ginny faded once more into her own personality, but the smile lingered just the same. She took a step towards him, and Ron drew her into a hug. For an annoying little sister, she was pretty cool.

* * *

_Lucid Dreaming: the sensation of knowing that you are dreaming! Take control of your dreams! Soar high above the clouds! Journey into the deepest ocean! Chase a shooting star! You can do all of this and more when you buy Sleeper's Bliss! Safe, affordable, and relaxing! Get something out of your dreams tonight!_

That slogan was written for one of the manufactured products Fred and George had sold in their joke shop before the war forced it down on hiatus. It certainly wasn't their most popular item on the shelves, but it got enough revenue to make "Sleeper's Bliss" a household name. It was just a simple potion taken before bedtime, and it guaranteed that the drinker would be consciously aware when they dreamed. Fred had found the recipe in a magazine from the sixties, and together, the twins had perfected the ingredients needed to eradicate all the negative side effects that were associated with such a potion. It was advertised for people who wanted a little more adventure in their life, but the brothers had used it a few times for shits and giggles. The morning after, they would compare notes to see who had had the best dream, but it was usually Fred who won. For some reason, George always had awful dreams.

Which is why George felt like he was dreaming right now, and he was distinctly aware of it. There was still the same dragging sensation as he moved. Each time he was forced to walk or sit or stand, his body felt heavy and sluggish. He couldn't move fast enough, and time had gotten muddled. Sometimes it moved so slow that he could feel each of the chambers in his heart contract and pump blood. Other times great gaps passed by in the blink of eye. He couldn't remember walking to the chapel, and he couldn't remember sitting in the front row next his mother…but George did remember seeing the open casket of his brother. There was a fly overhead, and he could see each graceful sweep of its wings as it descended upon one of the white lilies that adorned the front of the room.

Fred was dead. This had to be a dream.

It was impossible. It had to be some awful side effect of that dream potion, and he made a mental note to fix it when he finally woke up. Fred would be there, of course, just as he had always been for the last twenty years of their life. He was probably having a significantly better dream right now. Knowing his brother, it probably involved one of those beautiful Veela girls they had met at Bill's wedding. George would have loved for those radiant girls to waltz right in and take over this terrible dream, but he would never be so lucky. Because they were standing and sitting and standing and sitting again, and some man presented his mother with an award. Why would George's subconscious permit him to suffer through this?

Now they were outside. George could see the other headstones in the distance, and he was distinctly aware of reading _Gideon Prewett _and_ Fabian Prewett_ on a simple rock two rows away. The uncles he could not remember were directly underneath an ugly old tree, and the branches rose up and fell with the gentle touch of the wind. There was the smell of honeysuckle drifting from somewhere in the distance. It reminded him of summer and entire days spent outside until it was too dark to see. George closed his eyes and breathed in deeply, because it had to be the best part of this dream so far. He loved honeysuckle. Back when they were children, he and Fred would sip the nectar straight from the plants that grew along the dirt road to their house. Their mother would fuss at them, of course, because what idiot would eat a strange plant…but they told Ron and Ginny that they were poisonous only so they could have it all for themselves.

It was only when they went to lower Fred into the ground did George finally realize that this was not a dream. He woke up, blinking rapidly in the bright sunshine. Fred had died in the Battle of Hogwarts. There had been a smile on his face as his body fell back in a graceful arch. This was the final goodbye. George must've zoned out on the walk to the chapel. There was a handful of dirt in his hand now, and it was his turn to toss it in over the coffin. _Not a dream. Not a dream. Not a dream._ Once his brother was good and buried in the ground, there would be no denying the fact that he was actually dead. He would never be able to trick himself into believing that his brother was still alive. The tangible presence of that headstone would be enough.

This was the metaphoric final nail in the coffin.

He was having trouble breathing. Looking down at the mahogany casket, George realized that he could not do it. He could not bury his own brother. His entire hand went numb, and he shook with panic. Fred was dead, and George would never wake up to see his face. The crowd around him had gone absolutely silent. It was as though they had been waiting for him to break down.

And then suddenly, there was a comforting hand upon his shoulder. George instinctively turned inward, tearing his gaze from the grave that he could not fill. It was Percy, and although his eyes were red behind the horn-rimmed glasses, he pressed his younger brother into a hug. Percy dropped his own handful of dirt upon the coffin and guided George's hand to do the same. Fred was now gone beneath a light sprinkling of earth. He was dead, and George wept openly against Percy's shoulder. The only time he would ever see his brother again would be in his dreams.

The wind died down, and the scent of honeysuckle vanished from the air.

* * *

All throughout the ceremony earlier, flashes of the battle kept darting across Harry's memory. He saw Fred die, just as real as if it had happened mere seconds before. Like this morning, he felt sick, but there was a new emotion now spreading through his body like wildfire: Panic. Harry was not entirely sure where this new emotion was coming from, but the pain of it kept him from thinking clearly, and he stumbled back to the house behind the rest of the Weasleys. He could not bring himself to focus on one particular person, however, because with each passing moment his vision became fuzzier. It felt as though he were looking down an especially narrow tunnel, and everything around him was black.

Back at the house, Harry climbed the stairs two at a time, even though he thought his heart was going to burst with the pain of it all. Apparently no one had noticed his disappearance, but he kept glancing over his shoulder just in case he was being followed up the stairs. He felt like he was drowning. There was water rising in his lungs, and he couldn't even breath. His head pounded, and little lights popped before his eyes. When he finally reached the topmost landing in front of Ron's bedroom, only force of habit helped him find the doorknob and step inside. This was irony; he was dying all by himself in his best friend's tiny orange bedroom…dying from the pain of surviving it all.

He was shaking so hard that his legs wouldn't hold him, and all he could do was sit on the edge of his cot as each wave of sickening panic washed over him. His face was slick with sweat, and he ran his hands so furiously over his eyes that his glasses fell off and clattered somewhere to the ground.

_Don't cry…don't cry…don't cry…_

The weirdest sensation of all was the feeling of agitation. It was like his spirit or essence or whatever was stuck, trapped inside a body that he didn't want anymore. Harry felt like he was going to explode from the inside out.

There was a knock on the door. "Harry?"

He couldn't answer, because his mouth was full of lead and there was no oxygen in his lungs. If he had been fully aware of his surroundings, he would have noticed the hushed worried voices or the whispered spell of "_Alohomora_", but his heart was pounding at an increasingly faster rate and it scared him more than anything else. The door opened and closed, and he was suddenly aware of warm human arms and the scent of flowers. Whoever it was held him so tightly that the shaking stopped almost entirely…but that was when he started crying.

Harry had not cried this whole time, so now that the tears came, they came so furiously that he was unable to stop them. He felt raw and exposed, but whoever held him was crying as well. He could feel them trembling beneath their strong embrace and steady arms. It was Ginny; Harry could smell the flowers and the scent of broomstick polish on her skin. He wanted to stop crying more than anything else. If he could just pick himself up and redeem his shattered ego, perhaps he could avoid the awkward conversations. It was impossible, though. Harry cried so much it hurt, and cried so much that his throat felt as though it had been torn apart. This lasted forever.

…but then suddenly, it didn't hurt so much anymore.

There was feeling in his arms and legs once again, and his heart had slowed down from its frantic palpitations. He kept his face in the warm crook of her neck, and Ginny was gently stroking his hair as he gasped great shuddering breaths. She was talking, but not to him he realized.

"Why Fred?," she said, and her voice was barely above a whisper. "He was my brother, and I didn't want him to die."

"Nobody did," Hermione responded gently. There was a great sniff, and Harry recognized that Ron was also in the room, quiet but completely present.

"There's a hole in my heart, and I don't think I can handle how much it hurts. We pretend that we're okay, and everybody is trying to just keep going, but I don't think our family is going to make it."

"They will. I promise."

"How can you be so sure, Hermione?"

The other girl took a deep breath, and Harry could hear the tears in her own voice. "Because the days will just keep coming whether you want them to or not. After a while, it won't hurt so badly, and you'll feel guilty and forget how long it's been, but that's how life is supposed to go."

"I don't want to forget him…"

"You'll never forget him. You'll just forget how much it hurts."

Then there was silence, except for muffled sounds of crying. Harry willed himself to sit up, but he was too tired, too drained from the strange sensation that had enveloped him only moments before. He raised his head just high enough to glance about the room, but it was blurry without his glasses. Ron and Hermione were seated on the other bed just across from him, and they were so tangled up in each other's arms that it was almost impossible to see where one person began and the other one ended. When Hermione noticed his bright green eyes, she sat up and offered him a glass of water that had been sitting on the bedside table. No one said a word, and when he could not physically hold the glass up to his face, they helped him drink.

Harry laid down on the cot to save himself the embarrassment of speaking, and he was surprised when Ginny curled up next to him. He had never seen her so weak and vulnerable. Her eyes were red from the force of her tears, and her neck was raw from where he had cried so violently. She crept closer, placing her body against his and tucking her head underneath his chin. Harry, whose brain was already numb with shock, snaked his arms around her because he didn't know what else to do.

For the rest of the afternoon, the four teenagers sat and watched the sun dip lower into the sky through the tiny window in Ron's bedroom. They completely forgot, or rather ignored on purpose, that they were supposed to go to the funeral of Severus Snape that night. Their thoughts were wild and sporadic, but they didn't even consider the man who was buried with no one to attend his funeral. Harry could not have gone even if he tried, for he felt that weak. Once it was dark, they watched the fireworks with no particular ambition to sit up and enjoy the celebration of Fred's memory. Bright yellow sparks and red wheels dotted the sky, momentarily lighting up the walls in the little room. No one bothered them. The house was silent.


	7. Chapter Seven: The Black Family House

**A/N:** Well, I'm already failing Camp NaNoWriMo. I've been writing every single day, but some days are better than others (as you can probably guess). To give you some idea how far behind I am, I would have to write close to 10,000 words today if I wanted to catch up. I've completed NaNoWriMo before, but that doesn't make it any easier. Some stories are easier to write than others (and some chapters are like that too!). I'm actually currently updating the story from my old university. I'm here to visit some friends, so there hasn't been much time to write. It's three pages away from hitting 100, so this a pretty cool document to be dragging around. I hope you guys have enjoyed it so far.

Time to answer reviews!

**Adrian Cliffhunt**: I think you have left a review for several chapters now! Thank you so much for sticking with the story. I really appreciate it! I'm a stickler for canon, so I'm glad that it's turning out how I want it.

**Littlefish130:** Thank you! I'm glad you've found my story!

* * *

**CHAPTER SEVEN**

**The Black Family House**

* * *

The rain did not come until a full day after the burial, so when it finally did fall, it fell with a vengeance unlike anything Harry had ever seen. It was completely dark outside, because it was at that awkward time in the morning where it was too early to wake up and too late to go to sleep. He lay on his cot and watched the lightning flash across the tiny bedroom window, and he was vividly reminded of all those times he had heard the rain patter against the canvas of that stupid tent. A chill ran through his body, and Harry was cold even just thinking about it. There had been so many nights in such an uncomfortable setting that he wondered whether he would ever think of rain the same way again. It would always be connected to that hunt for the Horcruxes.

Another bolt of light briefly illuminated the room, and Harry held up a letter that had been clenched tightly in the palm of his right hand. The flash of lightning was too brief for him to make out more than a word or two, but he had read the contents of that letter so many times now it was memorized. It was addressed to him as such:

_Dear Mr. Harry J. Potter O.M.I._

It had taken Harry a moment to understand what those last three letters meant, but then he realized that it was his title now, considering he had been given the Order of Merlin. It felt unfamiliar to be addressed as such.

_Dear Mr. Harry J. Potter O.M.I._

_This is Kingsley Shacklebolt. I am sorry that I have not been able to get in touch with you since the Memorial Service last Sunday, but I thought that I would send a letter in advance to give you sufficient warning. You are being summoned to testify on behalf of the Malfoys this coming Monday. They have listed you as a witness. Although they have already been convicted of several crimes, it is possible that they might receive a lighter sentence because of their cooperation. You may of course decline their request, but please understand that you are the only person listed as witness to their eventual turn against the other Death Eaters._

_Also, I would like to speak with you separately in my office. We have made many significant changes over the past few days, and I consider your opinion to be invaluable. Would you be available to come to the Ministry this Monday at 10:00am (before the court summons)? Present your wand at the front desk, and they will take you immediately to my office. If this time does not work for you, please send a reply back with Arthur Weasley. Many of our owls are still being screened by untrustworthy hands, and I would rather not let the world know of your whereabouts at least for the time being._

_This almost goes without saying, but the offer for a position in the Auror department is still open if you wish to pursue a career with us. We could definitely use your help right now, plus anyone you might deem worthy of an offer as well. On a related note, it has come to my attention that we do not have an accurate list for your "Dumbledore's Army". That was Ms. Granger's doing, wasn't it? Very clever, but I am determined to thank those who risked their lives and I would need names to follow through with this. Thank you in advance for understanding, Harry._

_Sincerely, _

_Kingsley R. Shacklebolt_

_Minister for Magic_

Harry supposed that he was the only person in the world right now to be addressed as such by the Minister, but the thought did not ease his apprehension. It was surprising that the Malfoys had requested him as a witness, but then again, Narcissa had saved his life. He would certainly vouch for her kinder heart, but Harry was not quite sure he could say anything nice about Lucius other than the fact that he was straight-up coward. He could decline, but Kingsley made it sound as though he really wanted Harry to testify. Maybe they wanted to seem merciful despite the harsh reality of their punishments. It was a well-thought out letter, and it was certainly meant to be respectful, but the kind words did nothing to hide the desperation and subtle hints in Kingsley's meaning. Of course, he had made it seem as though they didn't really need him that much, but the tantalizing glimpses at other problems were intended to capture his attention. Unfortunately, though, it had worked. Harry was dying to know what they were doing at the Ministry, and whether or not the government was taking a step in the right direction. He had come too far to see it fall in shambles.

Another flash of lightning illuminated the bedroom, and Ron grunted in his sleep. Harry waited for a moment to see if his friend would wake up, but the other simply turned over and continued to snore. A pang of jealousy washed over the dark-haired boy. He had barely slept at all the last few days, dozing off only when his body could no longer function awake. It was always the same routine though. The moment his mind would slip into dreams, Harry would wake up in a panic, sweating and breathing quickly. He had already done so twice that night.

What he wanted more than anything right now was an escape. When he had first come home with the Weasleys, Harry had thought other people would bring him comfort. Unfortunately, though, they had only made him more exhausted. Everyone was always looking at him or wanting to hear him speak. He would have rather had someplace dark and quiet to gather his thoughts before being around people, but that was practically impossible in the Burrow. It was always busy, and the narrow rooms and hallways meant that there was someone around every corner.

Harry Potter was seventeen, and he had an idea. He was of age, and the end of the war meant he could do whatever he wanted. Or at least that's how it seemed in his exhausted, sleep-deprived brain. They couldn't stop him, and right now he just wanted a quiet place to relax, if only for a few hours. He stood up quietly, tiptoeing across the carpeted floor as he dressed in the intermittent light of the thunderstorm. The Weasleys would worry, of course, so he scribbled a rather vague note about his whereabouts to leave on the pillow. They could find him if they absolutely needed, because he supposed that there were only a few places left in the world that he might consider somewhat safe.

* * *

Ginny Weasley loved the rain. She woke up fairly early on that Saturday morning refreshed and excited for a full day of Quidditch training. It certainly did not matter to her if the ground was soggy and damp or if the wind had a cold bite to it, she loved the idea of rain. It meant the world outside had been washed of all the bad luck and ill vibes that had hidden in the sunshine of the past week. Life could march onward, just as it always did. Rain rejuvenated the plants and trees. It rinsed the oil off the motorways. It kept thickly sweet pollen from crowding the air. There were so many good things about rain, and best of all, she had a chance to practice in some unfortunate weather.

There was a calendar tacked up on the wall with a countdown circled in red. After diligently scanning the small, cramped articles on the few newspaper pages that were not devoted to war information, Ginny had found that the Holyhead Harpies had tryouts near the beginning of July. She had nearly two months of practice before then, and she was determined to do her very best. The young Weasley liked to think that she was tempting fate. It had dealt her an awful hand over the past few years, so there was no way her string of bad luck could continue in that same fashion. Ginny didn't really believe in luck or karma, but there was a nice ring to it that made her particularly hopeful.

It had stormed last night, and Ginny could see a few broken branches on the ground outside. The rain had slowed to a light drizzle, but the wind was still relatively strong. She dressed in the pale light of early morning, carefully choosing clothes that would keep out the chilly water. Hermione was still asleep on the small cot by the opposite wall. Strands of her long brown hair rested on her cheek and fluttered as she breathed. Although she was almost two years older than the youngest Weasley, it was easy to forget that when she looked so small in sleep. Ginny snuck past her, and squeezed her way through the bedroom door.

Peaceful rain drops pelted all the windows, but there was nobody downstairs. It was still far too early for her parents to be awake on a Saturday. Growing up, Saturday mornings had always been reserved for sleep and a late breakfast, and Ginny assumed that this day would be no exception. If her father went to work at all today, it was of his own volition. Saturday was not usually a busy day, but it took her a moment to realize that this was no ordinary weekend after all. It had been exactly one week since the battle. Of course, it meant that her brother had been dead for seven days, but she was determined to think positively. For one glorious week, they had been free of You-Know-Who.

The rain felt wonderful upon her face as Ginny hurried to the broom shed. It was cool and fresh, and the damp world around her smelled quite lovely. Unbeknownst to the rest of the family, she had been using Fred's old broom, taking care to hide it in the back after each practice session. She had never had her own broom before, and she was afraid that her family would get emotional if they caught the old Cleansweep Five gathering dust. It made her feel good to be using this broom to practice, even though she knew it would have to be replaced at some point. She'd be the laughing stock of all the other girls at the tryouts if she showed up with any kind of Cleansweep at all. They were reliable, true, but not powerful enough for a professional league, and she was determined to be taken seriously. She'd easily be the youngest person there, and that was already enough to keep her off the team.

Ginny kicked off the ground, letting her worries leave her as she soared upwards. This was why she loved Quidditch so much. It was intoxicating. Her heart pounded, her breath quickened, and her very body seemed to hum with excitement. She had been sneaking outside to fly since she was six-years-old, and it had never once failed to live up to her expectations. Perhaps it was the forbidden nature of the sport that had made her so eager to love it. Her mother had wanted a little girl with hair bows and dresses, but Ginny Weasley was no glass doll. She was mud and dirt and wind and rain. She was sweat and sunburns and broken bones and pain. There was nothing Ginny loved quite like Quidditch.

The Cleansweep Five did not resist her lap around the apple orchard, but the wind tossed her around like a plastic bag. She loved the difficulty, however, and her mind got lost in the force of the weather. This was why she had been looking forward to a rainy day. It was a completely different game when Quidditch took place in less-than-ideal conditions. To fly in a straight line, Ginny had to veer into the direction of the wind. Of course, that meant she lost speed in the effort to hold her broom straight, and Fred's old Cleansweep shuddered underneath her without the extra pressure already. It was much easier to use the sheer power of the wind to propel her forward, and Ginny spent the greater part of an hour practicing this improved method of flying. She dove in and out of trees, racing against her own heart as the tips of her muddy trainers brushed tree branches.

She did not notice them at first, but Ron and Hermione had come sprinting out of the back door to the Burrow. They were still dressed in their night clothes, and neither of them seemed to care that their socked feet sunk in puddles of muddy water. Ron flagged Ginny down from another lap around the trees, and she landed, spraying them with droplets of dark mud. She was a sodden mess herself, and the ginger hair clung to her face in thick ropes. Her older brother looked stricken, but she merely frowned at him in curiosity.

"Where is he?!"

She knew who her brother was referring to without even asking. There was only one person who would cause so much grief and anxiety, but the sting of betrayal did not make the revelation any less painful. Ginny's heart thudded loudly, although whether from worry or anger she did not quite know herself.

"I have no clue. He doesn't tell me anything."

* * *

For a wizard, Percy knew a lot about Muggle airports. Back when he had been under the direction of Mr. Crouch, a large portion of his job had involved picking up foreign ambassadors at the London Heathrow Airport. Although most of the British wizarding population was vastly opposed to the idea of flying around in a giant metal cylinder, it was often a preferred alternative in other countries to the incredibly uncomfortable portkey. This was certainly not Percy's first time sitting outside of the international terminal, and he doubted seriously that it would be his last now that he was back in the office where it had all started over four years ago. Shifting miserably in the hard metal seats, the young wizard (disguised cleverly as a man of business) sat and watched the Muggles as they popped to and fro around the conveyor belt that spat out the luggage.

He saw Piper first, stubbornly pushing her way through a crowd of tourists to get toward the front of the line. Audrey's older sister had not changed at all in the month since he had seen them last, and he was almost relieved to see the Squib snap rudely at the man who blocked her path to the suitcases. A year ago, Percy would not have admitted to being an acquaintance with such a girl, but that had been before he fell in love with her sister. Piper was a spitfire. She had bleach-blonde hair, blue highlights, and her arms bore several tattoos. When he and Audrey had picked her up from Soho in January, she had been living with her girlfriend and playing bass in some obnoxious band. He probably still carried that bruise on his shoulder from where she had hit him, but then again, that had been mostly his fault anyway.

When the crowd thinned and the group of tourists moved onward, Percy finally saw his girlfriend. Audrey was about as different from her older sister as night was different from day, but they still resembled each other in the arch of their eyebrows and identical tight-lipped smile. The younger sister was slightly shorter in stature, and her hair was a shade of brown so dark it was almost black. Piper's hair might have been that color too if she didn't change it every other week, but that was just another thing that separated the sisters. Percy didn't like change, and neither did Audrey. His girlfriend looked uncomfortable in the busy crowd, and her arms were clasped against her chest. She didn't see Percy immediately, so the red-haired man had a blissful moment to imagine their glorious reunion as he stood.

He would've said that he was so very sorry, and she would have kissed his worries away.

As much as he was loathed to admit, Percy had really missed her. Audrey had an gentle way of speaking, and she was the type to put everyone at ease even when she herself was in distress. He wanted her arms around him, just as they had spent many so sleepless nights, dreading the dawn when they would have to face the horrible reality of their jobs. Unfortunately for Percy, however, Piper noticed him before her younger sister, and she quickly hurried toward him, violently dragging the suitcases behind her with absolutely no regard to their well-being. He straightened up, and waited for her to approach him. The important thing to remember about Piper was that he could not be intimidated by her.

"You have some nerve showing up!" she hissed.

Percy looked back toward Audrey. She was searching around for her sister, but they were currently blocked from her view. "Well, I did pay for the tickets out of my own paycheck, so I think I have some reason for coming."

"She doesn't want to you here."

"Oh."

Audrey finally stepped forward enough to see them, and her face quickly fell at the sight of her boyfriend (or maybe it was ex-boyfriend at this point?). That look of hurt and betrayal was enough to crush Percy's spirit. After everything they had been through together, he had destroyed it all in an act of selfishness. Audrey's eyes darted away from him, and she would not come any closer.

"You should probably go away for awhile, four-eyes. My sister doesn't want to see you right now."

"Just tell her I haven't been back to the apartment for over a week, and I probably won't be going back anytime soon. She's welcome to stay there."

Piper sighed and ran a hand through her unwashed hair. It looked like she was too tired from the flight over to maintain her current level of anger. The sleeve of her shirt rippled, and Percy caught a glimpse of a prism tattooed on the upper portion of her arm. "Nah, she'll stay with me. Thanks for getting our tickets, I guess. Mum and dad didn't want us to come back, and they refused to pay for it."

"No problem. It was my fault anyway."

"At least you admit you're a jerk, but this isn't Alcoholics Anonymous so that won't help you on the road to recovery, Percy."

He didn't catch the reference, but she hurried back toward Audrey before he could ask. The other girl was determined to look anywhere but at Percy. He felt his heart sink further into his chest as she reached to take her own suitcase from Piper, and they turned to go.

"Audrey, wait!" he shouted.

She turned back around, as if she couldn't help that moment of weakness. There was truth to the phrase "absence makes the heart grow fonder", because Percy had never thought her as beautiful as he did right now. Her amber eyes were bright, and he could see the individual waves in her dark hair. What he wanted more than anything right now was to tell her about Fred. He wanted to be welcomed into her warm embrace; wanted to hear her comforting words. Percy, however, could not bring himself to say anything. He didn't want to burden her with the knowledge that a brother was dead. She would feel guilty for being mad, because he had sacrificed their relationship to help his family, and it hadn't worked. Maybe he was a selfish git after all.

"Just…just remember to keep your security spells up."

* * *

When Harry finally woke up that afternoon, it took him a moment to realize that he had actually been asleep for a really long time. Although he was still very tired, he felt rested and satisfied. His head was clear, and his mood had improved significantly. No horrible dreams had interrupted this time. In fact, he had barely dreamed at all. Compared to how Harry had felt over the last few days, this change was actually quite wonderful. He could look forward to the day and all the challenges it presented without feeling overwhelmed and anxious. Of course, it was late in the day (not morning), but any step in the right direction was better than no step at all.

The need to stretch overpowered him, and Harry sat upright. The threadbare blanket fell away from his shoulders as he stretched his arms toward the dark cobwebs on the ceiling. He had not been able to sleep on anything comfortable, just a few cushions hijacked from the couches, but he was used to beds like this after spending nearly ten years sleeping in a cupboard under the stairs. He probably could have taken one of those old beds, but the sheets had not been changed in a long time, and he was disinclined to sleep with any bug that had taken residence between the sheets. Couch cushions were perfectly fine for just one day, and the drawing room was actually a better location to ambush potential attackers anyway. He had put up several protections spells, but they had not been needed. Nobody had come to Number Twelve Grimmauld Place to look for him.

Why Harry had chosen his godfather's old place was rather simple: it was the only location in the entire country that he had at one point felt somewhat comfortable (other than Hogwarts or the Burrow, of course). By process of elimination, he had showed up earlier that morning on the front step of the dusty old town house in London, wanting nothing more than a dark room to sleep all day. Grimmauld Place excelled in this area, though, so he had stayed far longer than he had originally intended. That meant he had slept for more consecutive hours than he had the past few nights combined. Truthfully, it felt wonderful, and he was glancing around at the old building with far more happiness than he had on that night last year when he, Ron, and Hermione tumbled inside after the fall of the Ministry.

Although the house had served its purpose for the time being, Harry was sure that he would be back relatively soon. An extra place would be a handy thing to have when the Burrow felt too crowded, and that was unfortunately a regular occurrence. He was still torn between the idea of selling the place or permanently keeping it. On one hand, it was old and dark and depressing. It had been the horrible setting for his godfather's upbringing, and he had left just as sad and miserable as always. However, a fresh coat of paint and a big rubbish bin might do wonders to change the entire atmosphere. There were a lot of spacious rooms, and not every seventeen-year-old just inherits a house in London. It was certainly something to think about.

As Harry walked down the stairs, he ran his fingers along the handrail. Although a thick layer of dust came up with his touch, the wood underneath was handsome and strong.

He walked outside, taking extreme care to lock up behind him so no one else could find their way inside his godfather's old house. London was damp from the rain, but the slightly dirty smell of the city was still noticeable under the fresh breeze. He actually didn't mind this, or even the distant bustle of traffic from the main roads. It came with the territory of a big city. There was something easy and comforting about London. Regardless of the hour, it was always moving…always changing. He could hide for hours in plain view. No one spared him a second glance, not even when Harry stepped on the toes of some unsuspecting tourist.

He ventured down two blocks and up third, moving aimlessly as cars rumbled on the street. Harry didn't know his way around the city, but the many maps and signs made it easy to navigate. He had no particular destination, but after awhile, his nose picked up on a new scent that was different from the thick London smog of traffic and refuse. It was a glorious scent, and it made his stomach rumble with extreme desire. Harry had not eaten all day, and he was hungry enough to eat just about anything. On the other side of the road, there was an tiny inconspicuous shop crammed between a record store and a pub. The sign on the greasy front window declared itself as the best place in London to buy fish and chips.

The door had been thrown wide open, although whether it had been to tempt a stray breeze or a stray customer was another matter altogether. He hurriedly crossed the street with a group of fast-walking Londoners, trying his best to blend in as he marched confidently across the lanes of traffic. The inside of the shop was rather dirty as well. The tables were mismatched and broken, and the tile floor looked just as greasy as the front window display. The bald man behind the counter merely grunted at Harry's arrival. Ignoring this rather poor show of etiquette, Harry paid for his little basket of food with the few Muggle coins he had pulled from his rucksack that morning. The fish was perhaps a little greasy if he was going to be critical, but the chips looked like just the right amount of crispy and warm. He sat on a bench outside and ate quietly. Surprisingly, the sign on the shop window was actually somewhat truthfully. It was the best fish and chips Harry had ever had, and the only thing missing from his perfect little meal was a bottle of coke to wash it down.

While he munched on his food, Harry considered his new situation. The task Kingsley had brought up to him seemed simple enough, but he was not sure if he wanted to go through the tedious process of testifying on behalf of the Malfoys. He had not been out and about since the memorial service, and he was still unsure of whether he wanted any attention at all…something he was bound to receive if he just waltzed right into the Ministry on a Monday morning. If only there was some way he could do it anonymously, then he would have done so without any further thought. His conscious certainly told him that it was the right thing to do, but he had already been publicly listed. There was no way he could do it without being the center of attention. Everyone and their grandmother would know.

After eating the last delicious bite, Harry crinkled up the paper and wiped his slick fingers on the fabric of his jeans. It was late in the afternoon, and he knew that he was expected to go back home to the Burrow. It had been a glorious day hiding from his responsibilities, but there was a time and a place for everything. He would have to face the repercussions of his actions soon enough. They would be angry, or at least very worried. He hated to make Mrs. Weasley more upset than she deserved, but Harry had made his choice under the full acknowledgement that it was not safe.

And Harry had loved every minute of that risk.

He wandered around the streets of London for a little while before he found an alley that was secluded enough to use for Apparation. The work day had ended, so there were plenty of people walking around on the footpaths, but he dove out of the line before the oncoming surge of traffic had time to notice. There was no one around except for an ugly old cat underneath a dumpster, so Harry quickly turned on the spot and disappeared. The sensation of being pulled through nothing enveloped him, and all the air was pressed from his lungs. The next thing he saw was the Burrow on the other side of their spell barrier, warm lights in the kitchen windows. He took a deep breath to calm his nerves, and then stepped over the garden wall.

The back door opened almost immediately. Mrs. Weasley came hurrying out, but Ron dove out from under her arm to reach him first. Although Mrs. Weasley looked perfectly ready to throw her arms around Harry, her youngest son stood quite firmly in the way. His skin was pale underneath the freckles, but he stood up straight and pointed his wand with a steady hand.

"What did I bring back from Egypt for your thirteenth birthday?"

Harry had to stop and think about this one for a second. "Was it that wonky sneakoscope I kept in my uncle's socks?"

Ron noticeably relaxed, letting his shoulders slump forward. He had obviously not been looking forward to the prospect of hexing Harry, regardless of whether he was an impostor or not. Once this had been settled, however, Mrs. Weasley finally leaned forward for her hug. Harry could smell freshly baked bread on her clothes. His moment of bliss was short-lived, though, because the moment he drew back from the hug, Mrs. Weasley crossed her arms in a motherly fury.

"Don't you dare do that again, Harry Potter!" she said sternly. "You had me so worried!"

"Sorry."

The back door opened once again, this time revealing Ginny and Hermione. Unfortunately for Harry, they both looked rather cross and irritable. He could deal with Hermione easily (as he had been doing for nearly seven years), but there was a slightly hurt look in Ginny's face that he had not been prepared to witness. She clenched her jaw, nodded once when he met her eyes, and then she turned back inside the house before the others. The monster inside of Harry whimpered uncomfortably.

"What if you had been attacked! We had no idea where you were, and we might never had found you again!

"Yes, Mrs. Weasley," he nodded glumly.

Hermione bristled slightly. "It was very selfish of you, Harry."

"I understand."

Mrs. Weasley softened, extending her hand out to touch him gently on the cheek. "I know you might need some space, but you should have said something to us first. We would have made sure that need was met."

"Where did you go?" Ron asked.

"Grimmauld Place."

"I told you," Hermione said to Ron. "I told you that's where he would go."

They walked back to the house. The overhead lamp in the kitchen felt quite bright to Harry after being outside during the fading light of evening. Just as he had predicted, there was a loaf of fresh bread still cooling on the counter. His favorite onion soup was also boiling in a pot on the stove, and the rich smell sat heavy in the thick air. Feeling slightly embarrassed, Harry took a seat at the kitchen table. The only other person there was Percy, who acknowledge Harry with a half-hearted smile as he stirred his soup listlessly. Ginny sat perched on the kitchen counter, acting as though she didn't even see him in the room as she peeled apples for a pie.

"There's soup if you want some, Harry dear," Mrs. Weasley said, but she did not wait for him to reply. Harry, who could still eat even after having devoured an entire basket of fish and chips, accepted the bowl of soup with a word of thanks.

Hermione was watching him anxiously, as if she expected him to break down like he had the day of the funeral. When he looked up at her, she set down the letter Kingsley had forewarned him about yesterday. It was an official looking envelope, and Harry recognized the logo from the Ministry. Someone had already opened it first. Harry might have been upset about them reading his mail, but he wasn't going to dare put up a fuss after the scare he had put them through.

"I already know what it says," he said shortly, pushing the letter back toward her.

"You do?"

Harry shrugged. "Yeah, Kingsley told me about it in that letter yesterday. He wanted to give me a heads up."

"Oh," replied Hermione. "I thought he was going to offer you that job again."

"He did that too."

They were silent for a few moments, but there was tension thick in the air. Harry could have cut it with a butter knife. He tried to ignore the fact that Ron and Hermione had exchanged looks when they thought he wasn't looking, but it was hard to keep himself from getting angry. Ginny still refused to look at him.

"Harry," Mrs. Weasley said cautiously. "Please don't feel like you have to do anything."

"I think I'm going to take it," he said quietly.

If Harry had been completely honest with himself, he had known that this the whole time. The revelation itself, however, slipped out of his mouth before he had time to process it by himself. He blushed slight, casting his eyes down. Hermione blinked, Ron raised his eyebrows, and Ginny finally looked up from her apples. It was only Percy who reacted positively. He smiled, brightened up considerably, and shook Harry's hand. "Well done, Harry! Good choice!"

"What made you change your mind?" Hermione asked.

It was Ginny, however, who answered. She gone back to peeling the apples. "Harry would never sit on the side while other people risked their life. You should have known that, Hermione."

Harry glanced at her, but it was impossible to discern an emotion from her behavior even though her words might have been considered sarcastic. "I just want to make sure that I finish the job."

"Harry," said Mrs. Weasley. "The job will never be done. There will always be horrible people in the world. It's not up to you to stop them all."

"McNair and Yaxley are still out there."

"So's Dolohov," Ron said bitterly. "It was in the newspaper this morning. He was not among the dead, so he's presumed alive."

Harry was thankful that Ron at least understood his deep regret. It was like some kind of sickness, eating him from the inside out. Maybe he had had enough trouble for a lifetime, but that did not keep his friends safe from the troubles out there. He pushed the onions around the outer rim of his bowl, no longer hungry. He sighed, and looked back up at Hermione and the Weasleys. "I don't know where this is going to take me, but I've got to help out some way. I'll try not to get too involved for right now. I'm not sure if I'm ready for a big commitment."

"It's the only commitment you'd consider," said a cold voice.

Harry stared at Ginny, feeling both ice in his throat and heat in his face. She met his eyes briefly over the top of the peeler, and then glanced away. Thankfully, the other people in the room had enough tact not to acknowledge the comment. It was only once the rest of the Weasleys had either retreated to their bedrooms or into the living room to listen to the wireless did Harry finally turn back to Ginny. He felt himself grow angry once again, and she stared solidly back at him with the same glare in her eyes. Gesturing toward the back garden, he wordlessly suggested they go outside.

"You want to talk?" Harry asked angrily, slamming the door to the kitchen behind him. "Fine, let's talk. It's not like your whole family heard you."

She whipped around with all the force of a hurricane, her hair flying out in an arc behind her. Harry's instinct was to step backward, but he knew better than to do that; it would have only made Ginny madder. The damp night was too cold for their light summer clothes, but her eyes burned bright enough to start a fire. The thin strap of her tank top had slipped off her shoulder, and he had to resist the urge to count the freckles on her skin.

"I have every excuse to be mad at you!" she said shrilly.

"Yes, because that was the perfect opportunity…"

She stomped her foot on the ground. "I'm tired of it! Tired of waiting for you! You're too afraid to speak to me, because you know what you did was wrong!"

"That's not true," he responded quickly, although that was a lie. Ginny had said the very thing that had been bothering him for some time.

"Yes it is, Harry James Potter. You love to play the hero, but maybe you just didn't realize how much it would hurt me…how much it would hurt my family. Maybe I have no right to your classified information, maybe I have no right to know when you suddenly take off, but you did take my brother into almost certain death. In fact, you actually did die! Or almost died…or whatever! So I think that maybe I deserve an explanation, or at least an apology for breaking my heart."

She breathed in quickly, and the strands of her long hair that had fallen before her face fluttered slightly with the motion. Even though she was trembling with the force of her confession, Harry knew that she would not cry in front of him. Her words had broken him. Ginny was absolutely correct; he did feel guilty for everything that he had done…so guilty that it was eating from the inside out. He couldn't feel angry anymore. The fire that had flared was dead before he could even find the kindle to keep it alive.

"It broke my heart too," he said quietly.

She suddenly seemed self-conscious, pushing up the strap of her tank top as if she suddenly realized how exposed she was…both physically and emotionally. Harry sighed deeply and sat down on the garden wall. Ginny sat down as well, with appropriate distance between them, but he could still feel her shivering slightly in the chilly air. It was too cold for her to be sitting out in here in a tank top, so Harry pulled off his jacket and offered it to her. She frowned, but draped it over her shoulders.

"Ginny, I'm sorry," he began. "Really and truly sorry."

"I want to hear more than just your apologies, Harry."

"I know you do, but it's just so hard for me to do this. You know why I broke up with you, right?"

She looked at him, and he studied her face. She didn't look much like her brothers, who favored their father more. Ginny was smaller, and her face was pale and narrow. Her eyelashes were so light that they were almost blond, and there were so many freckles on her face that they often overlapped. Her hair was not completely orange either; there were darker reds and streaks of blonde that were noticeable even in the dim lighting of the kitchen window. Her eyes were the most extraordinary, however. People often say that the eyes are the window to the soul, and it was obvious with Ginny. Her deep brown eyes were stern and unwavering, with a ring of gold around the iris. He looked away again, but Ginny rested her hand on his.

"Harry, from the day you became friends with Ron, I was already a part of this. It wasn't like you could run away from that fact, even if we had never dated. My family has always been forcibly on this side of the war. My uncles died fighting alongside your parents. I had to say no to the Death Eaters; it's in my blood. I will always fight."

For a moment, he could just see this girl standing up in front of the Carrows, refusing to comply simply because it was the right thing to do. While Harry might have needed her safe for his own sanity, she would have continued to fight long after he was dead. She was Ginevra Weasley, the seventh child and only daughter of a huge family. She had grown up with them always staring over her shoulder, but she was a fighter. He had known that from the Chamber of Secrets.

"I tried, Ginny. I wanted to let you know how sorry I was so many times throughout this year."

She looked away, and there was an expression of disappointment on her beautiful face. "I'm not sure if I forgive you yet."

"I'm messed up right now, Ginny. I don't know what's up or down."

"I don't know if you've been in that house lately, Harry, but we're all pretty messed up. Every single damn one of us."

She was bitter. Harry realized that he was losing her, losing the one person in his whole life that he had ever felt a glimmer of something more. There had been other girls that he liked, or even might have liked, but they were nothing compared to Ginny. Even if the shorts she wore were a cut-up version of her brothers' hand-me-downs, or even if the laces to her trainers were often untied and she never brushed her hair, she was the most beautiful girl that Harry knew. It wasn't just her looks that made her so special either; she was a glorious fire in his rainstorm of a life. Some people just burn brighter.

His thoughts were irrational, to say the least, but he did something that was both brave and very risky. In all other situations, Ginny had made the first move, but today was different. He leaned forward and kissed her, putting so many unsaid things into a simple gesture. Her lips parted for him, and he reached to pull her closer, as if their physical distance could have made up for his time spent away. She was Ginny, and she was warm like fire. His hands were in her hair, and the sweet scent of flowers was thick enough that he was drunk alone on the smell of it.

She pulled away, and his glorious bubble of happiness burst into miserable reality. He hadn't realized how cold it was until there was distance between them once more. "Please, Harry," she said, desperation in her voice. "I can't do this. It's either yes or no, and there's nothing in between."

"What do you mean?"

She stood, the wind catching her beautiful hair once more. For a moment, he thought she was going to answer, but she shook her head and hurried back inside. Harry was left with nothing but a sharp pain in his heart, and it took him several minutes of shivering to realize that she had not given back his jacket.


	8. Chapter Eight: Testimony

**A/N:** Well, I finished Camp NaNoWriMo! I changed my goal to 20000 words rather than 50000, and that was much a easier goal for me to obtain. I probably would have given up if I hadn't changed it, so I suppose that's a lesson for me in the future: "don't bite off more than you can chew". I'm quite proud of this story so far. It is well over 100 pages now, and I like where it is going. I have so many documents open up on my computer for other story ideas, and I really hope that I can get to them soon. Unfortunately, things are about to get crazy. My birthday is in a few days, and I get married in a month! (Eeeep!) We're moving across the country shortly after, so this may not be a summer of writing. I am, however, going to LeakyCon...so look for me there!

Also, I'm trying to read more fanfictions. I really don't read that many, so this is a new thing. I'm on a Second Gen kick right now.

Time to Answer Reviews!

**LittleFish130:** That chapter was super intense, but I loved every minute of it...especially the scene with Ginny. I hope you keep reading, and thank you for reviewing!

**Adrian Cliffhunt:** Percy's story is so much fun. I have an entire plot planned out for him, and that's actually one of my documents open already on my computer. I can't wait to start that one. It's going to be legendary.

* * *

**CHAPTER EIGHT**

**Testimony**

* * *

On Monday morning, Bill and Fleur announced to the rest of the family that they were leaving to go back home. Ron watched his eldest brother talk with a tiny stab of bitterness, partially because he had grown used to his company and partially because Fleur wore a sheer white shirt that showed off her perfectly fit body. He was avoiding eye contact with his sister-in-law (and although he didn't know it, so did most of his other brothers as well) while simultaneously attempting to ignore the guilt bubbling in his stomach like hot wine. He couldn't hate Fleur, but he hated how she still had some control over him. It made him feel weak, like an animal. It wasn't his fault that he was susceptible to Veela magic, but he associated that same feeling of lightheadedness to the dark hold of the Horcrux locket. They were both designed to overpower a normal human being, and Ron didn't like this unwelcome reminder to his own lack of willpower. He stabbed moodily at the eggs and bacon on his plate.

"Do you have to go?" asked Ron's mother quietly.

"Molly," said Fleur in her musical cadence. "You have been so wonderful to us, but we must get back to our jobs. Zhere are problems in Gringotts, and I zhink we will be working long hours."

Percy's head shot up. "Problems in Gringotts? Why haven't I heard about this? There's been no talk in the office."

"There's been a lot of cover up, unfortunately," Bill replied. "The goblins are not happy with wizards at the moment. There's been talk of a rebellion, and I don't think we need that on our plates right now."

Ron tried to let that sink in for a moment. The only ill feelings he had toward goblins were from Griphook, but he couldn't blame the entire population for one individual's actions. Now he wished that he had paid a little more attention to Professor Binns, because he wasn't entirely sure what a goblin rebellion meant, only that it did not sound particularly pleasant. Beside him, Hermione fidgeted restlessly in her seat. After all those years sitting next to her in class, he knew when she had something to say.

"What are the goblins upset about?"

"The inconsistencies, mostly. Not only has there been a change of government, but the value of our currency has taken a hit as well. Goblins don't like meddling in the affairs of humans, and they've had quite enough of our drama lately."

"Voldemort had to have offered them something," Hermione replied coolly. "Even though he never cared for them, he knew how to create allies and play politics. The ministry needs to step in right now and counter-offer equal rights and put an end with this nonsense."

Fleur smiled in an almost patronizing way. "Hermione, goblins do not have zhe same concept of rights. All zhey care about is zheir own ways, and we have just adapted to zhem."

Hermione frowned. "It's just a suggestion. A little goes a long way."

"I know," Bill interjected, sensing the younger girl's temper. "We just have to pick and choose our battles right now. I'm more concerned about placating them than I am with rewriting cultural norms. Bigger battles for better times."

Ron reached out and touched Hermione on the knee. This seemed to work, and she glanced at him with a disgruntled look of surrender. He didn't need her marching off to war so soon after recovering from an old one, and he knew that Hermione understood this fact, even if she was keen to ignore it. Plus, she had to focus on her parents. Her plan to retrieve them was already being drawn upstairs in his bedroom, and she couldn't afford to get distracted this early in the summer. Ron liked her passion, but he understood when it needed to be checked. That had been half of their childhood arguments alone. The push and pull of their relationship oddly worked when it somehow managed to sync up.

"Well, we can't stop you from leaving," said Ron's father wisely. He was dressed in his work clothes, one eye on his wristwatch to keep track of the time for when he was due at the office. "But I'd like to stop by sometime tonight to make sure the wards are secure."

"Dad, I was a Curse Breaker in Egypt for four years. I think I can test them by myself."

"William," their mother said in a threatening tone. "We're just looking out for you two, and I personally would feel a whole lot better if your father checked as well."

Thus the matter was settled, with Bill looking only mildly displeased at having been reprimanded in front of his much younger siblings. Fleur took a seat next to her husband, and it was a lot easier for Ron to ignore her from the opposite end of the table. Charlie struck up a good-natured conversation about Quidditch, but for once, Ron was not interested in discussing the upcoming season. He turned his attention back toward Hermione. She was staring down at her food with a troubled expression.

"Knut for your thoughts?"

Although she was distracted, Hermione managed a smile. "Just thinking about goblins."

From her other side, Harry looked up as well. Throughout the previous discussion, he had been extremely quiet. Ron knew that he was nervous about his testimony later that day, but there had been an icy edge to his disposition for almost the entire weekend. As Ron understood it, Harry and Ginny had gotten into some kind of argument, and they were now handling the situation by pretending that nothing had happened at all…which probably wasn't very healthy. Ginny was currently outside practicing Quidditch. Ron caught glimpses of her every now and then between the trees. He wasn't entirely sure how he felt about their current status, but even someone with the "emotional range of a teaspoon" could tell that they were hurting inside. Harry was his best mate. Ron didn't want him messing with his sister, but then again, everyone would be much happier if they got their problems worked out quickly.

"Would a rebellion be so terrible?" Harry asked quietly after a moment. "They always seem to be doing that."

"They are often very bloody and dangerous, if that's what you're asking!" Hermione replied in an undertone. "Fleur's got it wrong, though. We haven't adapted to anything! Most of the time, these conflicts erupt from tensions over unequal rights. The biggest complaint in the rebellion of 1612 is the lack of goblin representation in the Wizengamot. I'm not surprised at all over their unhappiness."

"Funny coming from her, though," said Ron. "She's part Veela!"

Hermione nodded, shifting her gaze from Harry to Ron and then back again. "Harry, can you ask Kingsley what he plans to do? I'm just curious. You don't have to say anything, although if you suggested equal rights, I would be so very pleased. In the meantime, I'll do my own research."

"Sure," said Harry, glancing back down at his breakfast. "It can't hurt to ask."

It was just like old times. Hermione was going on about something, and she had neglected to let them know the full range of her thoughts. They were left with only pieces and clues, and he could only guess why she wanted to do her own research. Ron half expected her to go hurrying off to the library at any moment, a mountain of books balanced precariously in her arms. The memory humored him slightly, and he thought about spending the day trying to distract her from whatever problem dogged her inquisitive mind, but he had already made plans of his own.

He called it 'Operation George'.

George sat directly across from him, picking only half-heartedly at a breakfast roll. He hadn't said much since the funeral, but it looked as though he had at least slept some since then. Their mother had forbidden the lonely twin from visiting the grave more than once a day, so Ron's older brother had spent the majority of his time either locked up in his room or wandering aimlessly about the house. Ron had expressed his concerns to Hermione and Harry yesterday night, but they could only offer sympathetic frowns over George's plight. They were busy wrapped up in their own thoughts; Harry was going to take the job at the ministry and Hermione had already begun to plan her trip to Australia. Ron had to formulate this plan by himself, and it regretfully lacked Hermione's logic and Harry's gumption. What it didn't lack was a younger brother's concern, and that was hopefully all it needed.

When George finally got up from the breakfast table and headed upstairs, Ron shot a meaningful look at Hermione and then followed his brother. He called out George's name when he reached the foot of the staircase, and the other turned to meet him. All along the stairwell there were pictures from their childhood. Right behind George's uninjured ear, there was a shot of the twins one glorious summer after swimming in the river. It was a lovely shot; two young boys with swim trunks and bright red hair standing arm in arm by the old tire swing on the western bank. From this distance, it was impossible to tell the two apart. Ron tried very hard not to look at it.

"I was thinking we could go to the shop today and see how it's holding up?"

George blinked as if he hardly believed the question. "No," he finally said. "Not today."

"Come on, George, please?"

"Absolutely not."

He turned to make his way back up the stairs, but Ron quickly darted underneath the outstretched arm to stand firmly in his way. He was taller than his older brother, and most certainly stronger after a year on the run. George was obviously aware of this too, but he was not afraid of Ron (who was easily the most self-conscious and sensitive of all the siblings). He tried to push his way past. After a few unsuccessful moments of them scrambling on the staircase, George finally gave up.

"Move, Ron."

"No, you should go check on the shop. Dad said there is all kind of havoc in Diagon Alley, and you need to make sure that it's still standing. I'll go with you. I want to help."

"I said no," George groaned. He gave up trying to force his way past his brother and merely turned back down the stairs, putting as much distance between him and Ron as possible.

The younger brother was unrelenting, however, hurrying after him with heavy footsteps on the staircase. "I'll go by myself, then."

"No you won't."

"Oh yes, I will. If you won't go, then I guess I have to go make sure everything is okay all on my own."

George finally faced him. "You will not go near that shop."

Ron had to fight down a winning smile. As a younger brother, he knew all the tricks when it came to irritating older siblings, and he had just gotten under George's skin. It wasn't the best plan in the world, but he was hoping to push him back into his old personality. Ron really missed his older brother. It was bad enough to lose Fred completely without having to lose George as well.

"Yes, I will. I'm going there right now. You don't seem to care."

"Of course, I care. What do you think you're doing? It's not your business, it's…" George faltered. He almost had said 'ours' in reference to the shop, and the accidental slip seemed to cause a moment of indecisive pain. They had finally brushed against the heart of the problem.

"Yes," said Ron, pretending as though he had not heard properly. "It's your shop, therefore, you should go make sure everything is okay. I'll go with you."

Then, without even asking for permission, he pushed open the door to the kitchen. The rest of his family was still seated around the breakfast table, and they only glanced up briefly to see his head in the doorway. "Hey, George and I are going to the shop today."

"Really?" asked their mother hopefully. Ron grinned in triumph as she rose from her chair to look at George through the doorway. The older son had been caught in the middle of Ron's trap, and it was impossible to say no when his mother looked so earnestly pleased. He shrugged, smiling in a painful sort of way, but it was a good enough response for a worried mother. "Oh, that's wonderful! I'll pack a lunch for you. Arthur, tell them to be careful!"

Their father looked amused at this suggestion. "Be careful, I suppose."

* * *

Kingsley Shacklebolt was not in his office when the secretary opened the door, so Harry merely took a seat on the chair opposite the minister's stately desk to wait. It was hard for him to ignore the excitable woman who had brought him down from the front entrance desk, but he tried his best not to notice her as she stumbled about to make tea, knocking over furniture and nearly breaking all the little cups. Although she was at least five-years-older than him and certainly out of his league, she had made their introduction an embarrassing affair after loudly proclaiming that she was a huge fan. Harry had already forgotten her name (because he had been absolutely mortified and too busy trying to blend in with the floor), so he only gave a curt nod when she handed him a cup of the weakest tea he had ever tasted. He sipped it in front of her to be polite, but Harry quickly put it down the moment the door closed behind her.

That was when he slumped against his chair, feeling each ridge of his spine press uncomfortably into the hard wooden surface. Harry was exhausted; the trip to the Ministry and the walk down to Kingsley's office had taken almost every bit of energy he had saved up. No matter where he went people stared at him with something like wonder. He felt like a zoo animal. Even that stupid secretary, who was pretty enough to consider guys like Harry laughable, had melted at the very sight of him. Who was he kidding? He was no more ready to be out in the wizarding world than he had been on the day of the memorial service.

Kingsley's office was, for the most part, pretty bare. There were no pictures on the walls aside from the certificate of completion for Auror training and the now retired badge. There was bright sunlight streaming in through the window, but it had been bleak and cloudy on his way in today, so Harry knew that it was most definitely fake. Papers scattered the desk top, unsorted and jumbled up with building plans and newspaper articles and memos galore. Harry would not have thought Kingsley to be a messy individual, but it was possible that he had not yet had time to get organized. Reading upside down, Harry saw that a few of these papers were about the goblins. Some were over new security measures, and still more were drafts of wanted ads for missing Death Eaters. Only the tiny voice in his head mumbling something about breaking the law kept him from reading any further. Although nothing was marked, he was sure some of that information had to be confidential.

Harry could vaguely hear the sounds of people outside the office, but he was completely unprepared for the door to slam open behind him. He jumped and grabbed his wand, feeling each nerve in his body react with a completely disproportionate energy. Last Christmas, he and Hermione had only narrowly escaped the jaws of a giant snake who crashed through furniture in quite the same fashion. Harry half expected to see that awful creature again, rearing up with sharp fangs, but it was only Kingsley, speaking his powerful voice.

"Tell Henderson whatever answer will keep him happy for the time being. I'm busy for the rest of the morning. Also, Fudge, make sure that the report on Dementor migration has been brought to the editor by noon. No excuses. I want to get it out to the council before the end of the day."

Kingsley closed the door behind him, but it wasn't as intentionally harsh or frightening as he had been only moments before. He had the certain look of a man who had been consumed with non-stop activity, and he was so wound up on adrenaline and caffeine that his actions were larger than life. He was tired, rightfully so, and he did not immediately notice Harry until the other cleared his throat. The young man's heart was still pounding anxiously in his chest, but he was able to push the sudden invasion of memories to the background of his thoughts. Kingsley stared at him shrewdly for a moment, glancing at the wand still clenched in Harry's right hand.

"Ah, Mr. Potter, so good to see you. Unfortunately, one cannot be too careful, especially in the Ministry, so I'm going to have to ask you a question. When we last corresponded in person, we took a walk. What did we see along the way?"

Harry responded gratefully. "Err, we walked down to the Quidditch Pitch. It's my turn, though: Where did we first meet?"

"It was at your uncle's house. Your bedroom was a mess."

Harry sat down once more, but he remained toward the front of the chair, perching tentatively in case he had to stand up again. He did, however, stow his wand carefully up the sleeve of his robes, feeling slightly foolish for having been caught so unexpectedly. Kingsley walked over to his desk, shuffled a few of the papers, and took a drink from his own cup of tea. Harry was reassured to see the Minister of Magic make a face of disgust. It meant that he probably wouldn't have to drink any more either.

"Ugh, she's a great secretary but she makes horrible tea. Unquestionably faithful. She used to pass me Thickness's old memos before throwing them away."

"Wow," said Harry. "That had to require bravery."

"Exactly," he replied. "Although I'm not quite sure she understood the danger. She's a simple kind of girl, loyal to the nicest person in the room. It could have easily been someone else. I know what it must seem like to you. We were all working here day in and day out, and yet nobody stood up when things started getting rough."

Harry shrugged. "There were other things to consider: income and families."

"I suppose."

Kingsley had no wedding band and, as far as Harry knew, no family to consider at all. In fact, he barely knew anything about the man outside of the fact that he had been an Auror working with the Order of the Phoenix, and this lack of knowledge concerned him slightly. Mr. Weasley probably knew a lot more, and Harry made a mental note to ask him when he got back to the Burrow later that afternoon. Meanwhile, the Minister swirled the cup of undrinkable tea around for a few seconds, and then dumped the contents on a plant by the windowsill. Harry fished around in his pocket until he pulled out the list Hermione had made up for him yesterday night.

"There you go. That's all the members of Dumbledore's Army. We had two that defected, but we didn't include them."

"Yes, thank you. I will be drafting awards for this tonight, actually. I was thinking about placing a plaque somewhere in the Great Hall of Hogwarts. What are your thoughts?"

Harry blushed. "It was just a little student group."

"And most of that student group responded for the battle, so I will be personally thanking them at some point…What do the circled names mean? Ah, I see Mr. Weasley. I assume they died?"

"Yes, those were the three that died during the battle."

The Minister nodded, tracing the outline of each circled name with the tip of his finger. He drew out a piece of paper, and scribbled a few notes down. Harry noticed that he was using an ordinary Muggle pen instead of a quill, which he thought was odd, but then he remember that Kingsley had spent some time guarding the Muggle Prime Minister. It was probably force of habit that made him carry a pen around now, but Harry could not deny that it was much faster.

"While we're are on this subject," Kingsley said, pulling out another sheet of paper from his drawer. "I want you to take a look at this and tell me if they're missing anyone."

Harry looked down at the paper. It took him a moment to decipher the unfamiliar slanted handwriting, but he soon realized that he was looking at the list of people deemed worthy enough for an Order of Merlin after the war. The names shocked him, partly because there were so many and partly because he knew most of them. For some reason, Harry suddenly felt very emotional. He struggled to force his mind to the task at hand, but he stumbled slightly as he made his way down the paper. At the top of the list were Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger. Harry's heart gave a funny twitch to see them there; he knew Ron would absolutely over the moon with excitement. Harry's parents were also there, with the word 'posthumously' added in parenthesis. The same could be said for Severus Snape, Remus Lupin, Sirius Black, and Nymphadora Tonks. In fact, almost the entire Order of the Phoenix was on that list, including both people he knew by name only (such as Marlene McKinnon and Caradoc Dearborn) as well as individuals he loved dearly. Now the only Weasley without an Order of Merlin would be Ginny, but only because she had been too young to be an official member of the Order.

"What are the requirements for an Order of Merlin?" Harry asked. His voice sounded rough even to him after his moment of silence.

"Well, the original Order of Merlin was an organization that served to protect and defend ordinary Muggles, but it's turned into a general award for those who serve the country. First class is given to people who risk their lives to protect others…you know, war heroes and the like. Second class is for people who contribute to advances in magical knowledge, and third class is reserved for great individuals and thinkers. Current members nominate someone for the award, and the rest of the group votes on whether or not to give it to them."

Harry nodded. "Who nominated me?"

"You?" Kingsley laughed. "No one nominated you. They all voted unanimously."

"Ah. I see you've been nominated, too."

"I know. I'm very honored."

Harry placed the sheet back down on Kingsley's desk. "I think that's everyone."

"Excellent," replied Kingsley. "That was the most important thing, but we still need to talk. I would like your opinion on several changes we've made over the last few days. First of all, though, are you going to testify on behalf of the Malfoys at noon?"

It took Harry a moment to respond. He drew in a deep breath and looked down at his hands twisting nervously in his lap. Had they always done that? His skin was callused in all the wrong places, and his fingernails were short and jagged from where he had chewed on them. They were not the strong hands of a hero. A true hero probably had a firm grip and clean skin…not bloody hangnails. "Yeah, but I'm only going to vouch for Narcissa and Draco. I don't really care what happens to Lucius. I just want to make sure it's a fair trial."

"Trust me, I will do my best to make sure that everything in this ministry is just and fair from now until I'm forced out of the office. Although…I still think they deserve less."

"Maybe that's true," said Harry.

Kingsley gave him a curious glance. "You're a better man than me, Harry…even after what you've been through. I think we can both thank Albus Dumebledore for that. He was such a good man. Fallible, yes…but still good. I've been trying to emulate him in my decisions. For instance, I chose to have the Dementors removed from Azkaban."

"Really? What are you doing with them?" Harry asked. "I heard you mention something about them migrating."

"Yes, unfortunately. I've had a special hit team of wizards attempt to force them from London, but many of them have gone across Channel. The Netherlands aren't too pleased right now. Which reminds me: I need to get that Collins girl back in the office. She spoke excellent Dutch."

Kingsley scribbled another note down, and Harry waited patiently for him to continue. "I've also decided to rebuild Azkaban," he said slowly. "The old one relied too much on the Dementors to keep inmates locked up, and we both know that certainly did not work. It's been difficult rearranging all the current prisoners, but I think they will be pleased in the long run…not that's it is my goal to please them, of course. I've also had a team reevaluate all the inmates in there to see if there are any more innocent people like Sirius."

"Is that a really a common occurrence?" Harry asked blankly.

"I'd like to think that it's not, but all other evidence supports the fact. I feel like a maid cleaning up a big mess. I went to release all the Muggleborns that had been locked up in Azkaban, and all I could do was just stand there and hold the door. I felt useless. I don't know what I had been expecting, but it certainly wasn't like when the Muggle allied forces marched into Auschwitz during World War II."

Harry understood this comparison, even though it had been years since he had taken any sort of Muggle history class. "Why did you accept the position?"

He almost immediately regretted the question. It was extremely personal, he realized, and also probably none of his business. Kingsley's eyebrows rose, but he did not take offense to the question. In fact, he answered it. "Probably the same reason that brought you to this office today, Harry."

The young man avoided the minister's eyes. "I feel obligated to finish the job. I feel like it's the only way I'd ever be happy."

"Exactly," replied the most powerful man in the country. "I would never have forgiven myself if I had passed up this opportunity and things got worse. I know that I will do everything in my power to fix this mess, and I trust myself more than anyone else. In that sense, we are very much alike. I trust you are going to accept my offer for a position with the Aurors?"

"Yes," said Harry, feeling as though an immense pressure was lifted from his chest.

"Good," Kingsley stated. He allowed himself a triumphant smile. "You will still have to undergo intensive training before you are consider a full Auror, but you have completely bypassed the application process. I'll make sure that you are sent that letter as soon as possible. I will also make sure Henderson knows when I go to speak with him after lunch."

"Henderson?"

"Yes, he is the new Head of the Department. Although he lacks the years of experience that Moody or I had, he's an excellent leader. He is very…thorough with details."

Harry had the impression that Kingsley Shacklebolt was refraining from saying what he really wanted to say, but he kept his mouth shut for the time being. It would not be good for him to start off with ill feelings, and the minister had actually started off describing the new Auror Head with positive qualities. Harry's heart was once again thudding loudly in his chest. He was nervous about what he had just agreed to do, but at the same time, he couldn't help but admit that he was excited.

"Well," Kingsley continued. "There will be plenty of time to discuss your new job later, but I still want you to look over a few things before you are needed at noon. Do you mind?"

He pulled out another sheet of paper and handed it to Harry. Feeling significantly better than he had only moments before, the young man looked down and tried to concentrate. This new paper was about security measures in Gringotts, with specific paragraphs outlining the attempts to freeze Death Eater accounts. There was a mention about the uncooperative goblins. He quickly looked back up at Kingsley. "I've actually been meaning to ask you about the goblins."

"Let me guess: Ms. Granger wants to know?"

Harry smiled. "Something like that."

* * *

Diagon Alley was silent. The wind whistled through the abandoned shops and alleyways, and the only people visible were a group of shady-looking individuals huddled in the collapsed doorway of Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlour. Ron felt as though he had stepped into a ghost town, for there was no other word to describe the gloom of what had once been the busiest street in all of wizarding Britain. Windows were busted out, and the contents of every store that had not been properly protected lay scattered out across the cobblestone. Shop Number 93 was still so far out of sight, and all current evidence suggested that it would not be a pleasant discovery. Ron felt out of place and very exposed, so he and George kept their wands out as they stepped over scattered flyers and broken glass. The two brothers collectively decided that they should spend as little time as possible out in broad daylight. The people crowded in the doorway had already ceased their conversation to watch them pass, eyes dark under heavy cloaks.

"This is ridiculous," Ron muttered as soon as they were beyond earshot.

George shot him a dark look. "You were the one who wanted to come so badly."

"Yeah, and I'm glad we're here. This is insane. Do you think the Ministry knows about this place?"

"I would imagine…"

They turned down a smaller street, careful to scan the alleys for lurking enemies. The towering white stone of Gringotts dominated the skyline above the shops, and Ron glanced upwards into the tiny windows. He was unconsciously looking for goblins, but thick curtains blocked his view of any turmoil inside the giant bank. With an uncomfortable stab of fear, he realized that his eldest brother had thrown himself right back into that mix along with his wife. They could easily be in danger. What if the goblins decided to rebel after all? Would they spare a second glance for the young man who had worked amicably with them for almost three years? It was a chilling thought.

George swore softly behind him, and it only took Ron a second to realize why. The shop was just up the street, and although it had certainly faired much better than the neighboring establishments, it was almost heart-wrenching to see the once colorful joke shop in its current condition. Before disappearing into hiding, Fred and George had completely boarded up all the windows and doors so that it was impossible to get inside. They could see where people had unsuccessfully attempted to tear down the magical barriers that protected it, and there was even an angry burn scar across the entire left side of the shop that suggested that someone had even once tried to set fire to the establishment. Every available inch that was not covered by flyers and wanted ads was decked out in vulgar graffiti.

"It's not that bad," Ron said with a half-hearted attempt at optimism. "I'm sure it could be much worse."

George did not answer and merely shook his head. His eyes were wide and misty.

They stepped up to the shop and inspected the worst of the damage. Ron had to admit; the twins had protected their pride and joy as well as it was possible. It was so well fortified that he couldn't even see inside. George dragged him around to the back of the building, where a thick door had been padlocked shut. There was a sign that said, "Keep the Fuck Out - OR ELSE". Ron chuckled as his brother pulled out the key.

"Be careful," George said roughly. "We had the place rigged. I need to shut off the security system before you dare take a step inside."

"Really?" Ron asked.

The door swung inward on its hingers, opening in on the storage room at the very back of the shop. There were stairs leading up to the apartment, but George stepped past this, walking cautiously on the balls of his feet. He seemed to be following some strange pattern on the floor, stepping on some tiles and not others. At one point he looked back at Ron, spun in a circle, and then took a step to his right. His younger brother was thoroughly confused, but George disappeared in the front of the shop.

"Okay," George called after a moment. "You can come inside."

Ron released a breath he didn't even know that he had been holding. It was unwise to linger on thresholds in such an open and unprotected area like Diagon Alley, but he quickly stepped inside and pushed the door shut. It was extremely musty inside. His brothers had obviously left in a great hurry, and all the time they might have needed to clean the inside of the shop had been used up making sure the outside was impenetrable. Ron walked quietly to the front of the shop, dark now that no light could come in through the front windows. There was thick dust on all the surfaces. He could run a hand over the banister, and the dirt would cling to his skin like static. All the products that his brothers had so carefully manufactured sat untouched on rows of shelves. It was disheartening to see the beautiful shop in such a state. Ron pulled a love potion down to examine the back of the box.

"These have a shelf life, don't they?" he asked.

George wasn't listening. He sat on the steps that led up to the balcony level, holding onto the banister as though it were a flotation device for a drowning man. Ron sighed and replaced the potion back on the shelf. He sat down next to his older brother, knowing exactly what to say but completely unsure of how to say it. This had been George's dream; a dream he had shared with his twin. Now that Fred was gone, was it only half a dream? Would George even want the shop after all this heartache? Ron glanced over at his brother. There were silent tears glistening on his freckled face.

"Look, George…" he started.

His brother sniffed, wiping his face on the sleeve of his shirt. "Got an awful lot of work to do, right?"

Ron blinked. "Yeah," he said. "But it isn't so bad."

"I suppose. We should be the first place back open. That might inspire other shops to do the same. I guess when it comes down to it, that's really the only way to help out the economy right now."

"I'll go grab a dustpan, shall I?"

Ron quickly hurried back to the storage room. If his brother wanted to open the shop back up, then he was going to be there every single step of the way. He owed it to him, especially after this past year. One thing was for sure, they would need a large picture of Fred to be placed somewhere in the shop. It was, after all, his dream too.

* * *

"Are you Harry James Potter?"

Harry inclined his head. "Yes, I am."

The person accepting his testimony was a gray-haired man in an even grayer set of robes that perfectly matched the dark wall behind him. He spoke in a quiet, monotone, and wheezing voice. Harry was distinctly reminded of a chameleon. The old man could have faded right into the background, disappearing forever and no one would have been able to find him. Harry was personally glad for the private testimony, but he would have appreciated an interviewer with a little more color. He almost felt like he was speaking to an inanimate object. Harry's stomach rumbled audibly, and he shifted lower in his seat to get comfortable. This was already promising to take an obnoxiously long time, and he had not eaten anything since breakfast early that morning.

"Where are you currently living?"

"I have no permanent address right now. I'm staying with friends. Kingsley Shacklebolt knows where I'm staying if you would like to get in touch with me."

Harry waited while the man scribbled slowly on the form with his eagle-feather quill. He could see each stroke of the feather outline the written letters, and the whole process took a lot longer than it should have. In desperation to look elsewhere, Harry cast his eyes around the empty room. The Malfoy trial was not a public one; they still had enough influence in the wizarding world to wiggle their way out of a scandalous affair. Life would not be easy for them, even if they did manage to get by with a lesser sentence. They had agreed to cooperate, had even given names of all the members within Voldemort's inner circle. In exchange, they had allowed Harry to testify for them. He was determined not to sugar-coat the manner. They were, of course, guilty, but he would make sure that they received a fair trial.

"Do you understand that you are testifying on behalf of the Malfoys at the request of Narcissa Black Malfoy?" wheezed the older man.

"Yes, I understand."

"Do you have evidence to support the claim that they were unwilling followers to the Dark Lord after such a time?"

"I do."

"…and that they betrayed the Dark Lord at a crucial moment."

"I do."

Harry quietly let out a sigh of relief as he released that confession. The man continued to write down several important notes, his quill jerking back and forth as the tip scratched upon the paper. He wanted this to be over with as soon as possible.

"Alright," said the man. He pulled out several blank sheets of paper to record Harry's statement. "You must vow to tell the truth and sign this magical contract, or else we cannot use your statement in the court. Do you, Harry James Potter, swear to tell the truth?"

Harry nodded nervously. He was handed the eagle-feather quill, and he signed the bottom of the page with a trembling hand. The minute the ink left the page, it glowed bright blue with magic.

"Please begin."

It was a long story with no definite beginning, but Harry started off explaining how he knew the Malfoys and their son Draco. He stated the absolute truth that he had no affection for that family, and how they had caused him nothing but grief over the last few years. He was honest though, and he told the story of how Draco had been coerced into accepting the task of killing Dumbledore after his father's fall from Lord Voldemort's graces. He also explained how the young man had made several unsuccessful attempts on other lives. Lucius was another matter, because Harry knew next to nothing about the man aside from their encounters over the years (which had never been pleasant). He felt no guilt when he realized that the Death Eater would probably spend the rest of his life in jail, but Harry thought his wife and son might deserve a second chance. Narcissa's story was particularly difficult to explain, and he mentioned how it was only because of her that he was able to make it back into Hogwarts alive during the battle. The sacrifice reminded him of his own mother's choice to risk life and death for her son. Harry told the man nothing that he didn't need to hear, and after a good half hour of talking and patiently waiting for the story to take its form on the pages, he was done with his testimony. He settled back against his chair as the man went over the grammatical structure of the story, but Harry couldn't help but ask the question that had been bothering him since he started speaking.

"How do you know I'm telling the truth?"

"The paper would be blank if you were not."

The man held up his finished product, which was two full pages of his cramped handwriting with Harry's signature at the bottom. The young man nodded.

"You may leave now, Mr. Potter."

Harry stood up, feeling somewhat awkward as he left the room. There was another person waiting for him outside, impatiently checking the wristwatch on her arm. She looked up at his presence, and clicked for him to follow her.

"Mr. Draco Malfoy would like a word with you before you go."

He frowned. This was not part of the plan. "I already gave my testimony."

"He knows," said the lady. She had a clipped voice, very short and to the point. "Mr. Malfoy has a particular request for you."

Harry had not been prepared to see Draco so soon after the battle, but he followed the lady through the halls of the Ministry. They went up one set of stairs and then took a left turn. The only sound that followed them was the click of her heels reverberating against the walls, and Harry was distinctly aware that he had never been in this part of the building before. They went through a doorway, and Harry found himself facing the bars of a prison cell. It must have been part of a holding room, because Draco Malfoy stood all alone in the corner. The lady nodded curtly to Harry, and then she backed out to let them speak.

Draco did not look particularly healthy, but he looked much better than all the times Harry had seen him over the past year. Although he was as thin and as pale as ever, being away from Lord Voldemort must have had an immediate effect. He faced Harry proudly, and although there was no gel to keep his hair slicked back and he was dressed only in the plain gray robes provided by the Ministry, he still seemed honored to carry his family name despite all the shame of the last few weeks. Harry acknowledged him shortly, wondering what in the world his old enemy could have wanted from him.

"Potter," Draco said.

"Hello, Malfoy."

There was a chair on each side of the bars, and they both took a seat to talk. Draco crossed his arms sullenly. "I want to thank you for answering my mother's summons. I hope that she can be spared from prison even if my father and I cannot."

"How long are you facing?" Harry asked.

"Me? Only five years in prison. They are not going to convict me for any crimes I committed before I became of age because my mother has convinced them that I was brain washed into obeying my father and the Dark Lord."

"You're very…lucky, I suppose."

Draco seemed to falter uncharacteristically. "I don't think luck has anything to do with this. I made my choices and these are the consequences of choosing the wrong side."

"You mean the bad side," Harry said quietly.

"Good and bad are irrelevant right now."

It was a strange thing to say, but Harry realized that there was truth in his words. At this moment, there was no bad side anymore. Voldemort had been defeated, and they could only pick up the broken pieces of their world if they ever wanted to find stability. He stared at Draco, who stared right back. The two of them were a lot alike aside from the fact that they had been born into completely different circumstances. The roles may have been reversed if their parents had chosen different sides.

"Well, I hope things turn out fairly for you," Harry said. "Was there something else that you wanted?"

Draco nodded, and then he pulled out an envelope. "Here, this is for Andromeda Tonks from my mother. I believe that you have been in contact with her, correct? We have not heard from my aunt in many years, but my mother is hoping to beg for forgiveness. Don't worry, it has been approved by the ministry. It's nothing but a simple letter. You can read it if your inclined to do so."

He held out the letter. Harry accepted the envelope through the bars that separated them. He briefly pulled it open to double check the contents, and then slipped it inside the pocket of his robes. Draco settled back, satisfied.

"Thank you, Potter. My mother sends her regards."

"Tell her thank you as well."

They were nearing the end of the conversation. Harry went to get up, but Draco had one last request.

"Can I ask you something?" His face was no longer narrowed into a look of unbridled pride. In fact, the Slytherin looked quite young, younger even than Harry. "Why did you save me from that fire?"

"Oh," said Harry without missing a beat. "Because it was the right thing to do."

And then he walked out of the room, leaving Draco Malfoy to stare in confusion at the door he pulled shut behind him.


End file.
